


art kid

by IVK



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: (probably), Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, a good healthy amount of angst, and painful fluff, art guy skyguy, english prof obi wan, goin easy on the angst here, i just wnt them to be ha pp y, this is so pure tbh, this is the most pure thing ive ever written, what is this romcom?? trash???
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 03:21:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6837037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IVK/pseuds/IVK
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Obi-Wan isn't going to let this get out of hand.</p><p>At least, he hopes.<br/>-<br/>AKA, the fic in which Obi-Wan is the "theoretically depressed" English professor, and Anakin is the failing business major who is much more interested in art, particularly of Professor Kenobi.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Obi-Wan Is Kind of Stressed

**Author's Note:**

> WELCOME TO HELL! AGAIN!  
> welcome 2 my second fic !! which is obikin again!! great !!! (kill me) i am beta-ing (beta-ing?) this myself, so cut me some slack pls. on a related note, most of this is written at 2 a.m. I HOPE THIS IS NOT TERRIBLY OOC
> 
> so, here's the AU that's little more than a romantic comedy that no one asked for but is COMPLETELY necessary.
> 
> also fun fact: changed the age gap between obi and ani to a solid 6 years. i figured the original age gap would be too wild for this fic

It's been raining all week.

The sky is gray, but the trees are all green—too green, mixing with the fog and the hell that's pouring onto earth in every direction. Obi-Wan hates rain. He can appreciate it in poetry. Driving an hour through it and having it annihilate his hair which he _does_ in fact spend time on to make it look like he _doesn't_ spend time on it, is a different story. Right now, he's driving to work.

Said work being the prestigious college deep in the heart of the city, surrounded by the perfect college town that's undoubtedly any pretentious teenager's wet dream, including his own about ten years ago. He's twenty-eight now, and the town is kind of mediocre. Everyone in it is bitter, but Obi-Wan supposes he's bitter too, these days.

He opens the lecture for his English class by asking the students if they think the week of rain is a bad omen. It's much less an English question and more a conspiracy theory discussion opener, but he wants to be sure he's not being completely neurotic for wondering.

The class passes slowly, and the only thing that keeps him alive during it, as he's come to rely on, is Padme Amidala sitting wide awake and smiling in the front row. He appreciates her, he really does; it's nice to have a friendly face in a lecture hall of zombie-like students. It isn't that he doesn't like teaching—he does. He just wishes they could show some enthusiasm.

After all, he's been kind of self-conscious ever since a student dropped out two years ago, and rumor has it, he blamed _Professor Kenobi._ That's alright. It's not as if it really was his fault, which Padme has assured him so many times that it's probably getting on her nerves.

“Can you still come out tonight?” Obi-Wan asks her after class, as the students are filing out. He's almost certain some of them believe he and Padme are dating. What they don't realize is that Obi-Wan is a fair amount of _completely gay._

“I have an essay due tonight. Sorry,” she admits, slinging her bag over her shoulder. The disappointment must be clear on his face, because she smiles apologetically. “Are you alright?”

Obi-Wan nods. “Yes, I'm alright. I'd wish you good luck, but I'm sure you won't need it.” Apart from being a literal ray of human sunshine, Padme is some kind of academic superstar.

“How about a movie at my place tomorrow night?” Her smile is glittering. “We can get pizza or something.”

So he tells her that sounds great, because it really does. He lives all alone in this great big country house that used to be his step father Qui-Gon's, before his untimely death, and Obi-Wan's perpetual loneliness probably contributes to ninety percent of his theoretical depression.

He stops at a cafe a few blocks away for kind of a late lunch composed of tea, and tea. He planned on getting something to eat, though just as he's about to head back up to the counter, _he_ shows up.

 _He_ hasn't changed much, this man taking his seat a few tables away. He looks tired, and grumpy, and painfully attractive, but hey, that's nothing new! His hair's gotten longer in the past two years since he dropped out _all because of Obi-Wan._

Obi-Wan drinks his tea nervously. What is he supposed to _do?_ Anakin Skywalker is going to notice him soon enough, and then if they ignore each other it will most assuredly only make things even more awkward. He's standing and walking over to where Anakin is sitting with his back to him. Shit, if Anakin dropped out because of him, why on earth would he want to engage in _idle small talk?_

Too late! Death approaches! Obi-Wan sits down across from where Anakin sits, beginning to type something on his laptop. He has nice hands. Thin, graceful fingers, but steady and strong and _stop looking at his hands and say something, Kenobi._

“Hey.” Nice!

Anakin glances up suddenly, evidently having had no idea Obi-Wan even sat down. “Professor Kenobi,” he greets him, tilting his head. “Right. Hey!”

Fuck—shit—now what does he say? He keeps his mouth open slightly, trying to find words while smiling awkwardly and looking into blue eyes.

“Still wearing black nail polish?”

Obi-Wan snaps his eyes away from Anakin's, glancing down at his own hands. “Oh. Yeah, I guess I am!” Chipped, black nail polish as he's always worn. Kind of embarrassing now. Just an old habit. It's quiet again between them, and he needs to say something. “So, what are you doing these days?”

Anakin sits back, shrug turning into a stretch of his arms over his head. Obi-Wan tries particularly hard to stare at anything but Anakin's arms, and Anakin gives a thin laugh. “I've been going to Tatooine since I left Coruscant—transferred, actually. You know.” Tatooine—that—that's the other college in town, at the other end of the city.

“I didn't know, actually.” Obi-Wan maintains his smile, though his mind is whirring. He didn't drop out of school all together? Well, that's somewhat of a relief. He doesn't ask. “What are you majoring in?”

“Business,” Anakin answers in a voice that has _kill me_ written all over it. “My gir—ex-girlfriend wanted me to.”

“You never struck me as the business type.”

He grins, and suddenly Obi-Wan is thankful for the laptop screen that divides them like a wall, like a shield. “What's that supposed to mean, Professor?”

Obi-Wan isn't really smiling anymore, only looking at him attentively. “You're too good for that,” he says. Where the hell did _that_ come from? He doesn't even know what he meant. He wants to retract the words immediately and swallow them.

Anakin's gone kind of quiet, likely trying to think of something to say. At least he doesn't seem pissed off in any way with the conversation yet. Obi-Wan sits forward, leaning his arms against the table. He looks at Anakin's laptop. “What are you doing?” Homework, probably.

“Using the wifi here to download this new program.”

“Something expensive?”

“Nah, free, actually.” Oh, he's pirating it. Of course.

Obi-Wan sits up straighter, trying to peer over the screen to get a glimpse of anything. “What is it?”

“This new high-end sort of art program,” he explains. “Art... is kind of pretty much the only thing I care about.”

“Art kid,” Obi-Wan remarks fondly.

Anakin looks somewhat embarrassed, shy suddenly. “I've been able to sell a few things, but not much for a living or anything.”

Why would he be majoring in business if art was his true passion? Obi-Wan supposes it may not yield a steady career. Perhaps he's only being wise.

“Do you have anything I could see, maybe?” Obi-Wan asks. He's leaning forward on his elbows, chin resting on both his fists.

Anakin just laughs, shaking his head. “Haven't unlocked that level of friendship yet.”

The rest of the conversation lapses back into typical small talk for a few more minutes, mostly about what Obi-Wan has been doing—which is embarrassingly boring—before Obi-Wan realizes he still has work to do and he's finished his tea. He grabs some actual food on his way out and says goodbye to the student who has haunted him for the past two years, as if they're great friends.

 

 

 

“He's a _business_ major!”

Obi-Wan is snuggled with Padme under a heavy blanket on the couch in her apartment, all the lights off spare the varying glow of the television screen. They're watching a movie, one of the superhero ones, but Obi-Wan forgets which one exactly. He let Padme pick. He's not that into action movies. Actually, he's not into _any_ movie while his mind is going faster than whoever just jumped out of a plane on screen.

“I mean, I'm not sure what he was majoring in when he attended Coruscant. He likes _art._ ”

“Did you see any of his work?” she asks, not taking her eyes off the movie. “Maybe it's not that good and he's just being practical.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head. “He's amazing, I know it.” Though there's no logical way he _could_ know. He's just got the feeling, and he prefers trusting his instincts. “Is it bad I want to talk to him again? It was just a one-time thing, running into him, but I feel like I should talk to him again. Should I? I don't know how to even contact him. No—actually, I doubt he wants to spend more than another minute with me.”

Padme pats his shoulder gently. “Obi-Wan, please. Can't we just watch the movie?”

He sighs, relaxing back against the couch. She's seen it countless times. “Yes. Sorry.”

Eventually, Obi-Wan gets up from the couch, going outside onto the little balcony extending from Padme's apartment. He leans against the railing with one of the blankets from the couch wrapped around him like the cloak of a medieval king, looking out at his kingdom, or in this case, at the loud, nighttime city. He doesn't mind the noise, in fact, nights at his own house are much too quiet in the country.

He lights the cigarette he brought out with him, raising it to his lips and inhaling softly. It's a regrettable addiction that began in high school when he thought standing around with a cigarette looked cooler than standing around twiddling his thumbs. (It did, very much.)

The rain has turned to snow since night fell and temperatures dropped. First snow of the year. And he's looking out at it with the same sense of childlike wonder that always comes with the first snow. Everyone else in the city—everyone who's still awake—is probably looking up at the heavy flakes in the same way.

Is Anakin?

Obi-Wan pictures him staring out the wide windows of some expensive flat, sitting in front of an easel and trying to paint the view. Carefully adding white dots for each flake with those steady hands that do shake a bit when he tries to get too precise.

Anakin was so friendly in the cafe, no sense of hostility about him. But _why_ did he leave Coruscant University, if not because of Obi-Wan? Why is that the rumor, then? Maybe he simply got over his grudge.

 

 

 

Tatooine College is actually pretty shitty compared to Coruscant, and that's exactly why Anakin left. He couldn't stand Coruscant and it's upper-crust atmosphere. Honestly, Anakin just isn't able to function in high society. Comfortably, at least.

But the dorms at Coruscant were better, which is the only thing he misses. He's sitting on the bottom bunk of the bed he shares with his roommate Ahsoka in the co-ed dorm. The freshman is sitting at their shared desk a few feet away, which is cluttered with papers and snack wrappers. Her bleached-white hair is pulled back into one thick braid, and her dark blue eye-shadow is all smudged and wearing off after being on all day. She's studying, like a responsible student. Anakin is lying in bed with a bunch of pillows and blankets and his drawing tablet, playing around with the new program.

Regardless, it's one a.m., which means neither of them are _that_ responsible.

Ahsoka's phone vibrating from the desk makes him glance over at her. “Apparently, it's snowing!” she says, looking over at Anakin and smiling widely.

He snorts, going back to his drawing. “Not like there are any windows in here to see it.”

“We could go outside!”

He's not even wearing pants, currently. No way. “I'm drawing,” he says.

Then Ahsoka is hopping onto the bed, causing the whole unstable structure to bounce and his pen to slip. Ugh. Undo.

“What are you drawing?” she asks, and before he can answer she's peering over at the laptop screen. “Who's that?”

Anakin sighs. “This guy who used to be my old professor at Coruscant. Kenobi,” he explains. “I ran into him today at that one cafe. You know, the one that no one goes to who isn't hipster trash.”

“You always go there.”

“Yep.”

Ahsoka watches him as he continues drawing. He didn't mean to draw Kenobi, it just sort of happened. He has a good face to draw, that's all. He has a good face in general. It kept things interesting back at Coruscant. Anakin never felt the pain of a teacher crush until he found himself sitting in his first college English class.

“Is he really that cute, or are you flattering the guy?” Ahsoka asks, grinning at him.

“You know what?” Anakin pushes the laptop off his lap, setting down his tablet. He looks at his roommate fully. “He is cute, isn't he?”

“Well, the way you—”

“He's definitely cute.” Anakin nods, looking back at the Kenobi's face staring back at him in vivid colors. “I should go for him, shouldn't I?”

Ahsoka busts out laughing. “You're going for your professor? Isn't that illegal? And isn't he older than you?”

“It's not like he's my professor _anymore._ And listen, he's only six years older. That's not bad, right?” At least, Anakin thinks it's six years. He was twenty while taking English two years back, and if he remembers correctly, Kenobi was twenty-six.

“Alright. Target in pursuit. But listen, I thought he was the asshole that convinced you to ditch Coruscant for this shit-hole?”

Anakin nods, enthusiasm growing, tingling in his chest. “Yes, he _is_ that asshole!”

“Am I missing something here?”

“Kenobi told me about how he liked Tatooine better,” he explains, talking quickly. “He went on about how the atmosphere here is less tense, the student body is composed less of jerks and more of actual people. Of course, Coruscant had better pay so it wasn't like he was leaving. _I,_ on the other hand, had complete freedom to bounce.”

Ahsoka looks at him for a moment, then looks back at the picture of Kenobi. “I can't believe you're going after your old professor,” she says. “This is pretty wild even for you, Skyguy.”

Anakin just maintains his grin and jumps out of bed. “Let's go outside.”

“I thought you were—”

“Come on, we deserve fresh air.”

Anakin has lived in Washington for about five years now, and he's still a little mesmerized by snow. No snow in Cali. When he follows Ahsoka outside, up onto the rooftop terrace of the dorms, he stares up at the sky in wonder. The air is freezing, icy wind biting through his thrown-on jacket, but he crosses his arms over his chest and lets the cold soak into him, lifting his face to the sky. The snow falls in fat flakes against his skin, lying across his cheeks like freckles before melting, sticking in his hair.

It's too loud below. The city is nothing but a place of coalesced noise, and it's a wonder Anakin can sleep at all. Maybe that's the real reason his sleeping schedule is so wonky, in that he barely sleeps in general. He's not going to sleep much tonight. He's going to finish drawing Kenobi, and come up with a plan to see him again.

 

 

 

The morning following the teenager-like slumber party with Padme, Obi-Wan is relieved to be able to plow through the accumulated snow in his driveway, parking with more ease than expected. He trudges around to his front door, only to find the snow has nearly drifted to his waist up against it. He groans. Trying to pull open the door is to no avail. He hates snow. He's going to move somewhere it doesn't exist.

After digging his way into the house, the first order of business is making tea. Second order of business is putting on pajamas and enjoying his Sunday. He puts the TV onto some sitcom he doesn't detest, keeping the volume quiet but enough to serve as background noise to counter the country silence. He settles onto the couch with his laptop, opening up the PDF file of a new book he's been itching to read ever since he downloaded it.

He's pirating books, Anakin's pirating art software. Maybe they aren't so different. Stop thinking about him.

The cover of the book is, admittedly, the main reason he decided to read it. It's a drawing of a girl lying in white flowers, looking in the midst of death. It's not all that wildly unique of a picture, but the style is beautiful. Book covers this pretty should be illegal. The illustrator should be arrested.

Obi-Wan checks who the illustrator is—they probably have a website of more art. A quick scan over the first page or two of the PDF tells him everything he needs to know, too much, probably, all in one simple name:

Anakin Skywalker.

Really, Obi-Wan should have expected this. It's too much of a coincidence, but now excitement is tingling in his fingertips as he searches the internet for any website Anakin may have. He should have thought of this in the beginning!

Sure enough, his page is one of the first results, and then Obi-Wan spends the next half hour, easily, looking through his art. And god, it's all breathtaking.

Anakin draws a lot of surreal pictures of space and otherworldly subjects. He also practices human figure often, Obi-Wan finds when he sees sketchy drawings of what were likely live models.

The most recent update is from 4 in the morning—does Anakin ever sleep? The thumbnail shows someone's face drawn in brilliant colors and he clicks to enlarge it.

Oh, that's Obi-Wan.

No—that can't be him. But who the hell else would it be? That's _his_ face staring at him, damn it, _his_ hand curled at his chin, complete with old black nail polish. Everything is in vibrant blues and yellows and pinks and Obi-Wan has never been a fan of bright colors until now.

Well, that's enough stalking his old student for the day. Forget the book. Obi-Wan shuts his laptop and sets it on the floor before rolling over on the couch and pulling the blanket up to his chin.

“Rest, I need,” he mutters to himself, quoting Professor Yoda, which is what the old man says whenever a student asks him something out of hand.

Obi-Wan isn't going to let this get out of hand.

 

 


	2. Things Get 100% Outta Hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW!!! u guys?!?!?! like this !?!?!?!? I'm so happy!! All the positive comments make me smile super big and I love u all. Thank you guys. And this chapter is kinda late (later than I'd like, anyway) so WHOOPSIE (ive been busy and tired) but here it is AHH

It does get out of hand. Quickly.

 

 

“Let me guess—another email to Padme? That you're never going to send?”

Anakin shuts his laptop quickly, spinning around in the swivel chair to glare at the girl who had been standing behind him and looking over his shoulder. “No.”

“Yes.”

Anakin spins back around and huffs a miserable, “What does it matter, anyway?” which is actually a great question that he would love to know the answer to. He broke up with Padme—rather, she dumped him—several months ago.

She ended it because he was bordering on flunking out of college, and apparently calling off the two-year relationship seemed like a good idea to her in order for him to “get himself together.” Apparently, she also broke up with him because he was clingy, and really, he guesses he hasn't changed much seeing as he's still typing apologetic, explanatory emails. In addition, he's still failing.

Padme has moved on just fine, rumored to be seeing one of her professors, and she probably doesn't think about Anakin at all. Definitely not as much as he thinks about her. He should get a life. A dog, maybe.

“What about Handsome Beard Guy?” Ahsoka asks, hopping up to sit on the desk. The whole thing sort of wobbles, but they got it from Ikea so, in other words, it's indestructible.

Anakin leans back heavily in the chair, looking despairingly at the closed laptop. “I'm not trying to _marry_ him or anything.” Just a hook up or something. A short-term deal. Just to make him feel a little less lonely and useless for a while.

“Implying you were trying to _marry_ Padme? _”_

Anakin groans, letting his head fall into his hands, which answers everything, and allows his super supportive roommate to continue with a “dude, no wonder she backed out of that one.”

“Whatever. So I won't send the email.” As usual. “Now what?”

Her eyes go a little soft as she gives him a sort of sympathetic smile. “You probably should stop writing them in the first place, Skyguy,” she says gently. “You've got to find a way to get over her.”

“Yeah? How do you suggest?” As if he hasn't been _trying._

She nods to the laptop. “Does he have a Facebook?”

Oh, no. “I'm not adding _him_ on _Facebook._ ”

“If you don't, I will. What was his name? Kenobi something? I'll deliver the message that my good friend Anakin would _love_ to have dinner at seven!”

Well, no way is Anakin _ever_ going on any kind of dinner date again. Padme was a killer for those and he and his wallet were tired of the formal atmosphere after the first five times. “Fine,” he grumbles, opening his laptop back up and logging into the website he really never sees anyone under the age of thirty use.

He's halfway through typing his professor's name when he pauses. The embarrassment really comes when he's able to see the proof of his actions sitting there, typed on the screen. He can't do this. “What if he's married?” he asks suddenly. “Or has a hot girlfriend? Or something? What if he's not even into guys, did we consider that?”

“He's _totally_ into guys,” she says, pointing to the little picture of Kenobi that's popped up as a search suggestion.

Oh, god. There he is, _Obi-Wan_ Kenobi, with his stupid strawberry-blond hair and his stupid blue eyes. Why, why, why— Anakin cringes and clicks the thumbnail.

Last post: a few months ago. Different teas to drink for different purposes—what did Anakin expect? Pictures of dead puppies? The only picture that Kenobi—Obi-Wan—has posted of himself is what looks like a formal photo taken for some professional reason. Ahsoka clicks on it to enlarge it.

“Eh, he's okay, I guess.”

“Snips, you're _literally gay._ You have no room to judge how hot a guy is.”

“Are you kidding? I can—”

“Wait a minute... Holy _shit._ ”

Holy shit—holy _fucking_ shit. The only tagged photos are a handful from some kind of small holiday party in a luxurious apartment that looks painfully familiar. There's Obi-Wan, standing awkwardly with a full glass of wine, with someone's slender, graceful arm around his shoulders. Padme's arm around his shoulders. She smiling, wearing a Christmas vest that matches Obi-Wan's hideous sweater. Judging by the other pictures of them together, they're swell friends.

“Oh no,” Ahsoka sighs. “Skyguy...”

“I _knew_ the rumors were true. She's dating some professor at Coruscant. I didn't know it was _him_.”

“Nah, no way. Check out that hand-hold in this pic. Totally platonic,” she remarks, pointing at one of them.

This is hopeless. Anakin should just give up and delete his browsing history and delete the painting of Obi-Wan from his computer entirely. He can just pretend none of this happened.

Ahsoka's typing something.

She's typing a message to Obi-Wan. She's already sent a friend request.

Anakin yanks the laptop away. “What are you doing?” he asks, voice gone up an octave.

“What? I'm helping you out!”

He sits the computer on his lap, looking over the brief message she typed. “Yo homeslice,” he begins in a monotone, reading it aloud. “Wanna go out sometime? Coffee can be on me.” He replaces the introduction with a simple ' _hey'_ before looking back up at Ahsoka. “I don't even know if I have enough money for coffee.”

“If he agrees to a date, I will personally _give you_ money. Did you send it yet?”

Ahsoka reaches over and manages to hit send herself.

 

 

 

A relaxing evening after a long day at the university—that's what Obi-Wan needs. He's going to pop in his favorite romcom, sit in the bubble bath, and drink a glass of wine. (While Obi-Wan has never been a man for drinking, occasionally a glass of wine is necessary. Sometimes it's swapped for vodka. It all depends on how the day has gone.)

He gets pretty far in his plan, too. He's in the bath, the movie's on the flat screen on the wall, he's sipping from a glass in one hand, and there's the fatal mistake of having his phone in his other hand. Having a phone in the bath seems pretty fatal in itself for obvious reasons, but the only thing that gets killed here is his peaceful evening.

It starts when he makes the second mistake of checking his dusty Facebook account.

There are a variety of notifications to go through, which was to be expected. He scrolls disinterestedly through them, finding himself tagged in some unsavory snapshots from the Christmas party, along with a handful of new friend requests. He adds the few distant relatives and coworkers and one kid he sort of remembers going to high school with and— oh _no._

Obi-Wan actually feels his soul ascend from his mortal body when he finds the name _Anakin Skywalker_ staring at him through the screen.

Don't start screaming. Don't start screaming. Just a friend request on _Facebook,_ of all social media. Doesn't mean anything. Obi-Wan accepts it, only to discover the _message_ that accompanies it.

_Hey, wanna go out sometime? Maybe coffee?_

Screaming now acceptable. Obi-Wan nearly drops his phone right into the bubbles. He's trying to think of a response and the people in the movie are making out and he can't _believe this is happening._ Deep breaths. What good does yoga and meditating every day do if he still manages to freak out over little things like getting asked on a date? By his old student? Who left Coruscant because of him?

He should call Padme—no, he should _not_ call Padme. He might gossip and complain to her about everything else in his life, but he's got the feeling he should keep this one quiet. No outside influences. Just Obi-Wan, and this impending date request.

So Obi-Wan stares hopelessly lost at the screen for what might be hours, typing responses of gentle rejection and deleting them and then retyping them until he finally just fucking sends:

_How about brunch tomorrow around eleven? My treat._

Yes, this is getting incredibly out of hand.

 

 

 

It's not a date, Obi-Wan decides. Just a meet-up between old acquaintances, catching up over brunch. Just guys being dudes!

Obi-Wan winds down the windows when he drives through the city, letting the chilly air roll over him, and basking in the fact that it's no longer raining. His hair looks pretty great for once—actually, all of him looks great, because he was almost late to work deciding on what clothing could be considered both work-appropriate and date-appropriate attire. After class, he ditched his suit jacket and tie, unbuttoned the top of his shirt and rolled up the sleeves. Totally casual, calm and cool. The picture of a man who has it together. Obi-Wan is a master of disguise.

They agreed to meet at eleven, but they didn't even swap numbers, so Obi-Wan has no idea where Anakin is at the current moment, while he sits down in the back of the little restaurant.

He's reading a book—actually, reading the same paragraph over and over—until the chair across from him scoots out and someone is sitting down. He glances up and oh, fuck, shit, there he is.

“Introverted?” Anakin asks, glancing around the empty corner Obi-Wan chose to sit in.

“Awkward in social occasions,” Obi-Wan corrects him. “Very extroverted, very...” He hopes he doesn't sound as breathless as he feels.

He's acting like a _teenager._ Getting so flustered over a simple, casual first-date. Obi-Wan almost forgets they came here for food at all until he finds himself practically sleepwalking with Anakin up to the counter to order something. Brunch, right. He's actually starving. He likely ought to start eating breakfast. After all, it's the most important meal of the day.

“So... just to be clear,” Obi-Wan begins, once they're into their food. “This is a... date, right?” Sounds a lot more painful aloud than in his head.

Anakin glances up from his bagel which he's torn into ravenously, and he looks genuinely confused, tilting his head. “What else would it be?”

Of course, Obi-Wan knows this, but his mind still becomes a steady stream of screaming mixed with elevator music. He shakes his head and goes back to his parfait, digging the spoon into it with a bit more fervor. “Yes. Yes, of course. Right.” He gives Anakin a smile.

Something about that makes Anakin _blush,_ looking down again quickly. After a while, he says, “Yeah, me and Ahsoka—that's my roommate—figured I should branch out after my ex,” he explains. Who mentions their _ex_ on the _first date?_ “But I guess you already know about that. You being friends with Padme and all.”

“Padme?” he all but sputters. He composes himself quickly, not letting the shock sink in yet that _Anakin_ was the awful ex Padme ranted about. Now that he knows, it seems so obvious. Artist, transferred from Coruscant to Tatooine. What kind of coincidence would that have been? “She's my best friend. I'm sorry it didn't work between you.”

Anakin shrugs, suddenly very intent on spreading cream cheese on the other half of his bagel. Clearly a touch subject. Note to self: don't mention Padme.

“So,” Obi-Wan says to change the subject to literally anything else. He smiles again. “What possessed you to ask me on a date?”

“Mostly my roommate,” Anakin says, and when he looks back up at Obi-Wan, he starts smiling a bit too. Smiles look good on him. Natural. “But also because your face is the reason I failed English that one semester.”

Currently, Obi-Wan's face is likely turning a brilliant shade of red, heat rushing to it. “Oh,” he remarks softly. He blinks a few times, leaning on his elbow. “I... like your hair,” he says. “It looks soft.”

“You can touch it if you want.”

Oh. Alright. Hesitantly, Obi-Wan moves forward the hand he isn't leaning on, almost knocking over his drink. The touch is much less a _pat-pat_ and more of Obi-Wan sliding his fingers into Anakin's hair and gently running them through. Softer than he imagined. Anakin is just smiling at him, and Obi-Wan retracts his arm, eyes falling to Anakin's hands instead.

“I like your hands, too,” he mentions, as nonchalantly as possible after just caressing the hell out of his head. “You have very nice hands. Did you know that?”

Anakin hums thoughtfully and sits forward, turning one of his hands over to be palm-up. He shrugs. “You can hold one.”

Anakin Skywalker, you sly fuck.

Well, he's not turning that offer down. Obi-Wan reaches forward and touches his hand lightly at first, smooth skin beneath his fingertips, and then Anakin curls his fingers up around Obi-Wan's hand.

“Wanna go for a walk?” Anakin suggests, turning their hands over curiously. “Unless you have to go back to work or something. Nice office-casual look, by the way.”

So, they do go for a walk after Obi-Wan pays for brunch, and said 'walk' is more of a hike all around the city. Obi-Wan follows Anakin in and out of various shops, neither of them buying anything, but certainly getting a good laugh in at some ridiculous things being sold, not limited to a huge wreath which Anakin places on Obi-Wan's head like a flower crown. (They get yelled at to put it back, prior to being asked to leave the store like children.)

In fact, they spend so much time doing nothing in particular that Anakin ends up buying them dinner, putting a new meaning to the term “double date.”

When they leave the restaurant—which was nothing too high-end, as Anakin said he was grateful for—it's nearly dark outside. The sun is making it's descent, most of the sky dark spare the glimmer of light still lingering lethargically on the horizon.

“Padme wanted me to major in business,” Anakin is explaining as they walk along the shore, a great, dark body of water to their right, brilliantly lit city buildings to their left. “I stuck with it. I mean, I have to graduate sooner or later.” That explains it.

“Don't you know not to make any school-related decisions due to what your significant other wants?” Obi-Wan says, his voice light and teasing. Their hands are clasped together and haven't really left each other's grasp much.

“Kind of late for that advice.” Anakin leads them to sit down by the water, the area lit by soft orange lights. Their knees bump together when Obi-Wan sits beside him, and Obi-Wan is so damn touch-starved that the contact spreads liquid sunlight through him and suddenly all he really wants to do is tie himself to Anakin in every way humanly possible.

“Never too late for anything,” Obi-Wan assures him. He frowns, noting Anakin's pensive stare out at the water. “You're unhappy.”

“I hate it,” Anakin grumbles. “I hate being stuck studying what I hate all because of an ex.” He sighs and sobers somewhat. “I feel like I'll never really be good enough at anything, you know?”

“Anakin,” he says seriously. “You make excellent art—beautiful art.” He smiles a little. “Grades don't determine intellect, you know.”

“Yeah? You would know all about that, _Professor Kenobi._ ”

So, he gets moody after nine P.M. Obi-Wan will have to jot that down in his journal: Weird Shit About Anakin Skywalker. He imagines the list will be quite extensive.

Obi-Wan's sitting close to him, he realizes, quietly saying his name again but this time unsure of what he means to follow it with. Anakin looks over at him at last, and yes, their faces are very close indeed. Anakin is looking at him with those blue eyes, dark eyelashes like little brush strokes, his lips parted just slightly.

“Are you going to kiss me on the first date?” There's no playfulness nor judgement in his voice. Just the open question.

Obi-Wan blinks. “What? No.” He raises his hand up between them as a decidedly necessary wall. “You have something in your hair.” He pretends to pick something out of it, then sits back and stretches. “Well, I suppose we ought to be getting home.”

Anakin makes some grumbling comment about how he's going back to a dorm room, which is in fact better than home, which makes Obi-Wan skeptical of what sort of home-life he left. They don't kiss goodbye or anything, not even a parting embrace, just their hands sliding together before coming apart.

 

 

 

When Obi-Wan gets home, the house is dark, and he realizes he must have forgotten to leave a light on when he left in the morning, having been so caught up in what to wear he was almost late. The struggle of living alone—spare the cleaning staff that comes by weekly. He stumbles across the living room to switch on one of the lamps. It casts a dim light across the huge room. It's already ten, and he should probably be going to bed soon.

Instead, he sort of wanders out through one of the back doors of the mansion-size home, lighting a cigarette on his way. He can feel himself slipping into one of those _moods,_ and maybe he's just tired, but he's not ready to sleep. Those moods always worsen during the winter months. He can't really deal with them, though—he's got too much to worry over, and especially not now, because he has his new love interest to worry over, too.

He walks out onto the patio covered by about a foot of snow, taking a few steps through it clad in sneakers and sweatpants and an old t-shirt he wears to bed.

He falls back into a drift of snow, which he remembers reading somewhere that you're not supposed to do, but he does anyway, and then there's ice against his bare skin, melting through his clothes. The night is eerily silent. He listens to it. He listens to the silence as he stares up at the clear sky, at the smoke that blows away on the wind like thoughts after a hectic day.

There are a million things he could be thinking about. Only a portion of them begin with the letter 'A' and a smaller portion yet end in 'Skywalker.'

 

 

 

Obi-wan listens to the phone ring several times, sitting in his king-size bed in dry pajamas, before Padme finally picks up with a tired, “Obi-Wan?”

“Padme!” he exclaims. As if he wasn't going to end up telling her. Bullshit on that.

There comes what is clearly a yawn from the other line. “You know I go to bed before class at nine...”

“Yes, but this is important, believe me,” he insists, pulling the blankets up to his chin and rolling over onto his side. “I'm fairly certain that I am being ruined and it's all because of Anakin Skywalker.”

The line is silent for a few beats. “Wait... Anakin?”

Obi-Wan wiggles his toes anxiously. “Yes—Anakin! You never told me who it was you dated for two years. It was him! Now I've gone on a _date_ with him—oh, my, I think that was the best date I've been on in years.”

“Have you even been on a date at all in years?”

“I have!” he says quickly. “But as I was saying, why did you never tell me? I can't believe I am currently debating whether or not to romantically pursue your dreaded evil ex. He's legendary! To us, at least. Really, I—”

“Obi-Wan,” she says gently. “Can't this wait until morning? I need sleep. You do too.”

He takes a deep breath, collecting himself. “Yes, I'm sorry. Goodnight.”

There's a drawn out sigh through the phone. “You know, Anakin isn't really that bad of a guy.” When he doesn't answer right off the bat, Padme continues quietly. “The main reason I broke up with him was so he could... get his act together, really. I'm also fairly sure he was planning on proposing, which made it sort of weird.”

He smiles fondly, curling up tighter within the blankets. “...What is he like?”

“Did you not just go on a date with him?”

“Yes, and it was only one date.” He doesn't mention that they spent the entire afternoon and evening together.

“Oh, I don't know.” There's the sound of rustling sheets as she fidgets about. “Ani was always really sweet. Sometimes painfully so.” _Ani._ Obi-Wan wonders if it would be uncalled for if he starts calling him that. “I knew him as a moody, brooding artist type, hell-bent on proving himself worthy for _something._ If you can figure out what that something is, don't hesitate to let me know.” She pauses. “You should find out for yourself what he's like.” There's something in the way she says this that implies she never really knew.

Obi-Wan lets her words sink in. “Padme... If you don't want me to date him, I won't,” he says. Bros before hoes, right? “I'm _sorry._ I didn't know he was—”

“It's fine,” she says lightly, and she sounds like she means it. “I really don't mind. I want you to be happy. Both of you.”

“Thank you,” he says, and before he hangs up, he adds, “Padme?” He's beginning to hear just how tired he is.

“Yeah?”

Obi-Wan doesn't bother keeping his eyes open anymore, and exhales slowly before speaking. “I hope it goes well.”

 

 

 

“I'm in _love!"_ Anakin exclaims dramatically when he gets back to the dorm. When he flips on the lights with his abrupt and completely theatrical entrance, Ahsoka rolls over in the top bunk bed and groans.

“What the _fuc_ _k_ Skyguy? It's late.”

Which is just a ridiculous assertion. “It's not even ten.”

She glances at her phone screen, squinting when it momentarily blinds her. “Ten-thirty.”

“It's not even eleven _._ ” He climbs up onto the top bunk, flopping down beside her heavily enough to make the barely-padded springs of the mattress creak dangerously.

“Hey, I'm here if you wanna snuggle, but first, how did the date with Handsome Beard go?”

He's looking up at the dim ceiling, hopelessly lost and grinning like a madman. “I'm so fucked.”

Ahsoka sits up and criss-crosses her legs. She smiles down at him, chewing anxiously on her lip. “Alright,” she says. “Tell me everything.”

So, Anakin does. In full detail. For the next two hours.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope u liked it?! tell me ur thoughts??? id love to hear them. praise me or drag my ass go ahead (or just yell bc im always yelling and id love to have a chorus of mutual screamin)


	3. The One With the Camping Trip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO this is both later and angstier than expected. Both of which are prob b/c since the last update my life has!! fallen apart!! whoops!! so i had to try n get that together rq. anyway, here is the chapter! hot off the press!

Obi-Wan's in the kitchen, stirring a bowl of Grandma Kenobi's pancake batter, when his phone starts ringing from the other end of the marble countertop. He sighs and sets down the large bowl, wipes his hands on his pants, and answers the mysterious number on speaker.

“It's Obi-Wan,” he says pleasantly, picking up the bowl and going back to stirring.

“When can I see you again?”

Anakin's voice comes through his phone, echoing in the kitchen. Obi-Wan raises a brow and just sort of smiles. “I don't even get a 'hello?'” So dramatic.

“Hello.”

The _landline_ number belonged to Anakin? Doesn't he have a cellphone? “Where's your cell?”

“I don't exactly have one.” _What?_ Well, that explains why they never got around to exchanging numbers. It also means Obi-Wan is going to buy him one. “Payphone.”

“How did you even find my number?” he hums, though he doesn't doubt Anakin's detective skills.

“Roommate got it off your Facebook,” he explains. “You probably shouldn't have your number there, anyway. You're gonna make me lecture you on internet safety 101.”

“I'm the lecturer around here,” Obi-Wan corrects him. “And what did you have in mind? For seeing each other?” He's still stirring the batter, he realizes, and it's been smooth enough since the call began. He sets it on the counter and turns on the stove.

“I wanna go to the beach.”

“The... what?” It's _March._

“Don't get me wrong, I fucking hate sand—”

“I don't care about the _sand,_ Anakin, but it was 43 degrees last time I checked.”

“Great!” He can almost hear him smiling through the phone. “It's supposed to get even warmer this weekend. The snow'll be gone by then for sure. I was thinking we could bring blankets and food and we could have a fire—”

“You sure have thought this through.” Surprisingly.

“So, Saturday sound good? 3 o' clock sharp. We're camping, by the way.”

Good lord. “I should be free.” In fact, Obi-Wan knows he's free because he's always free. He should get more friends. A hobby or something. And he isn't protesting to this slightly crazy idea because... well, he doesn't know why. It does sort of sound fun. Maybe he just wants to see Anakin.

“Great! I'll see you then.” An automated voice nearly cuts off Anakin's with a robotic “ _Please insert one dollar to continue the call.”_ “I need that dollar for doritos, sorry. Bye!”

Obi-Wan hardly gets the good-bye out of his mouth before the call goes dead. He's definitely buying Anakin a cellphone.

 

 

 

Anakin is right, surprisingly. By the time Saturday arrives, most of the snow around town has melted away, spare the huge, man-made piles that Obi-Wan assumes will be there until July. He drives down to one of the beaches known for camping in his car that's too expensive-looking for a camping trip, but he might be showing off. Just a little. It's an older model, a convertible, though with the top up against the chilly early spring air, and it's mint-green with a cherry-red interior. Kind of ridiculous, kind of the best car Obi-Wan will ever own. It used to belong to his step-father.

He can't spot anyone else around the campsite, spare a few people here and there that most likely won't be sticking around past sunset. He parks in the grass where the trees meet the sand, glad to get out of the car. He's wearing two jackets over a sweater and a t-shirt under that, along with a scarf and a knit hat. He's sweating a bit. When he pops open the door, the cold air hits his face like a rush of water.

It only takes him a few seconds to scan the beach and it's dark waves and hazy, gray sky before he sees Anakin. He's standing by the shoreline with his back to Obi-Wan, hands clasped behind him as if he's a king looking out at his kingdom. The wind is catching in his hair, blowing it every which direction, and Obi-Wan longs to run his fingers through it. Less of a longing, more of a need. The weather is gloomy but it suits him, like the background to a famous painting. If only Obi-Wan were any good at art, he would paint the scene in a heartbeat. He struggles to recall anything better that he's seen.

He doesn't know exactly how long he leans against his car, watching Anakin watch the waves. But after a while, he can't help the giddy, affectionate smile that blooms across his face.

“Anakin!” he calls out. He waves his arm when the man turns.

Anakin sort of shouts something back but it's too hard to hear over the waves that swallow his voice. He starts hurrying up the beach toward him, but Obi-Wan locks his car, tosses his keys into his jacket pocket, and meets him halfway.

“How are you?” Anakin gushes, just as Obi-Wan opens his mouth to ask him the same. He's grabbed Anakin's arm in his excitement, but he doesn't seem to mind the touch. He's smiling widely and the wind pushes a stray curl of hair into his face.

“I'm doing well,” Obi-Wan answers, before he can think back to his gross mood that persisted through the week. “Doing better, now. Most definitely. And how are you?”

“Good,” he remarks. “Great, actually.”

Obi-Wan lets his hand slide down Anakin's arm over the thick, army-green jacket, lets his warm fingers intertwine with Anakin's cold ones. “Aren't you cold without a fire?” he asks, rubbing Anakin's hand in both of his.

“A bit,” Anakin answers. When Obi-Wan lets their hands fall back down to rest clasped gently together, they begin walking down the beach, presumably to wherever Anakin has set things up where they'll be camping. “I have some stuff by where the fire's supposed to be, but I've sort of been struggling.”

Which is more amusing than it should be.“You can't build a fire?”

“Of course I can build a fire!” he immediately protests. “I didn't go to boy scouts for nothing, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan just looks back at the beach ahead of them, rubbing his thumb over Anakin's hand. He's glad to find it warming up in his grasp. “Of course. But you can _paint_ fire impressively.”

“Wait, what?”

“I enjoyed the one piece you did,” he explains. “The one with the angels, but surrounded by flames as if it's hell—”

“You saw my art!” he exclaims and when Obi-Wan glances back over a him, he's no longer smiling. They're holding hands, but there is suddenly distance between them.

“On your website. You see, I noticed you designed one of my favorite book covers, and—”

“Oh, God!”

“Don't be so dramatic, Anakin,” he says gently. “It was all very g—”

“Oh my _God!_ ” He cringes. “Then you saw...”

“The painting of myself, yes.”

The second 'oh my God' is just a whisper, Anakin staring off as if he's just suffered some great trauma. Obi-Wan stops walking, forcing Anakin to a halt as well. He looks guility up at Obi-Wan like he's confessing to a murder.

“It was most excellent,” Obi-Wan assures him, letting the relaxed smile strengthen again. “What you did with those bright colors, it was... well, it was breathtaking.” He frowns suddenly, eyes flitting downward. “I hate that word, you know. Breathtaking. It's used so often, but you should know I was actually not breathing.”

“You... liked it?”

Obi-Wan looks back up at him at the quiet words, and everything is soft for a while. The wind in Anakin's hair, his fingers firmly gripping Obi-Wan's despite how closed-off he appears, the gray sky illuminating his oddly shy eyes as if it were as blue as them. Anakin looks _good—_ it's the only word to describe him. Obi-Wan has the painfully strong urge to kiss him on the mouth, that mouth which when quiet, becomes suddenly sultry.

Obi-Wan finds himself placing his free hand on Anakin's cheek. At the touch, Anakin glances up so their eyes meet, and for a moment, Obi-Wan forgets again how to breathe.

“Of course I liked it,” he answers softly. “Anakin... If you don't want me to look at your work, all you have to do is ask. Just say the word and I'll leave it alone.” And he will, though it would be quite a pity.

Anakin leans his face just minutely into Obi-Wan's hand, eyelashes fluttering as he lowers his gaze, as if something about looking into each other's eyes is too painful. “No, that's... that's okay.”

“Good! Let's get this fire started, hm? I've got some things to unpack from my car, still.” He gestures behind him, using it as an excuse to remove his hand from Anakin's cheek. “Care to help?”

 

 

 

By the time they get the fire and everything set up, the sun is low in the sky and nearly gone entirely despite it not being very late. But the days are getting longer, now. It turns out that Anakin knows literally nothing about starting fires, boy scouts or not, but Obi-Wan gets it started easily.

After only a short while, most of the snacks—organic, of course—that Obi-Wan brought are gone, and they're huddled together under thick blankets draped over their shoulders. The breezy night air is cold, but Obi-Wan's plenty warm under several layers and besides, he's got Anakin, doesn't he?

“Are you ever going to tell me why you left Coruscant?” Obi-Wan asks, the question still itching at him. He finally glances away from the crackling fire to look at it's orange reflection in Anakin's eyes. In this light, they look gold.

“What do you mean?”

Obi-Wan feels a befuddled frown tugging on his face, adjusting their hands together under the blankets. “I don't know. I always thought you had left because of me?”

“I did,” he answers, seeming confused. Right, just as Obi-Wan thought. All his fault. “You sort of inspired me. You know, that one talk we had about how Tattooine might've provided a better atmosphere and whatever. You were pretty damn right. I bet you're one of those people who's just _right_ about everything.” He says this all genuinely.

“I... inspired you?” he sputters stupidly. He never thought of that before. In fact, he can hardly recall anything particularly profound he said in their only one-on-one chat back at Coruscant.

His golden-lit eyes flick to Obi-Wan's face and he smiles softly. God, he loves Anakin's smiles. That urge to kiss him has suddenly returned, and this time it gnaws on his sanity. “You did. The whole transferring thing helped me a lot. Thank you.” Obi-Wan has the feeling Anakin isn't one to often thank people, especially not so damn _honestly._ But there's nothing except honesty in his eyes, now.

“You should study art,” Obi-Wan says suddenly, very aware of how close they're sitting. how close they've become in only a few mere minutes as opposed to the rest of the evening.

Anakin is shaking his head. “Don't tempt me, Obi-Wan,” he sighs. “I'd never make any m—”

“You will,” he says with an odd sense of certainty. He's never lied before. He doesn't think he's going to start now. He shifts his body so that he can face Anakin fully. “You might not have any faith in yourself... But I do. I believe in you.”

And Obi-Wan sees the blue in his eyes through the firelight, coming through like the sky after dawn, and Anakin's looking at him like Obi-Wan is the first person to have said that to him. There's a faint crease to his brow, his lips parted just faintly as if on the verge of saying something, and all of the sudden he looks ready to cry. There's a precise tightness in his chest which he can only assume is how it feels for a heart to break.

So Obi-Wan, of course, takes this moment to kiss him.

Kisses aren't supposed to really mean much. Obi-Wan's learned this in his twenty-eight years, that in the end, kisses are just kisses, just two sets of lips coming together and looking important from a distance. He decides all of his past kisses meant nothing. This is the only one that matters.

Anakin doesn't hesitate to reciprocate, mouth moving gently, softly, but with some unwritten hunger, a hidden, tantalizing desire to devour. But oh, how he _wants_ Anakin to give in. So he twists his fingers in his hair, tugging him closer, and yes, the kiss isn't so gentle anymore.

If there's a way to unlock every heavenly pleasure on earth, Obi-Wan thinks it's by kissing Anakin.

He pushes him back into the sand, which probably isn't the best idea, because now there's sand in Anakin's hair, but he doesn't seem to care. It's only when they tumble out of the blankets entirely that the kiss breaks off.

“ _Cold!_ ” Anakin exclaims from beneath him, to which Obi-Wan agrees, and erupting into a giddy fit of laughter like teenagers, they quickly huddle back under the blankets.

Lying side by side and too close but just close enough, they're both a bit breathless.

“I'm sorry if that was sudden,” Obi-Wan gushes. “I only thought—”

“Please,” Anakin says, grinning as he props himself up on his elbow to look down at Obi-Wan. “Don't ever apologize for kissing me.”

Obi-Wan just sort of smiles dumbly, humming an appreciative sound and reaching up to brush his fingertips over Anakin's jaw. Smooth, freshly shaven. He wants to kiss him there, too, kind of wants to kiss him every— Anakin is tilting his head just slightly, just enough so that he can let his eyes flutter shut while he presses his lips to Obi-Wan's palm.

He moves to lay his head down on Obi-Wan's chest instead, sighing. “Are you going to point out constellations to me?” Anakin asks, his voice bringing reality back. “Do you know them?”

Obi-Wan's not even looking at the stars, can't even bother to notice them. “I don't have a clue.”

 

 

 

Anakin wakes up around sunrise, because the fire has died down, and despite how Obi-Wan radiates. heat, it's fucking _cold._ He sits up, keeping the blankets tight around him, and gazes around tiredly at the empty beach. No one in their right mind camps out on the open beach in the middle of March, _no one_. It's a good thing he's not in his right mind, then.

The exact cause for his insanity is lying all snug under the blankets, not looking very cold at all. Anakin's just not meant for cold weather, he decides. Obi-Wan is still wearing that hat and scarf, his bangs poking out in disarray against his forehead. There's sand in his beard. Anakin hates sand.

He curls back up against the man's chest. It's warmer that way, after all. That, and it's just _nice._ After a while, it's warmer again, with only the sounds of the waves and the wind and the dying fire, and Obi-Wan's slow breath.

That is, until a cellphone starts ringing. Loud music bursts from somewhere under the blankets, probably one of Obi-Wan's pockets, and he just rolls over and groans. It would be cute if Anakin weren't so irritated by ringing. Who the hell is calling at _sunrise?_

Obi-Wan fishes his phone out of his pocket without sitting up, answering it while snuggling back up in the blankets, eyes shut.

“Hello?” he mumbles. Oh, God. He sounds tired and a little grumpy and _disgustingly cute._

Anakin realizes quickly that he can hear everything being said on the other line. And he recognizes it immediately. Padme.

“ _Are you okay? I'm sorry. You just weren't answering my texts and I was worried since you said you went on a date last afternoon and I— I feel stupid, actually. Don't tell me you were getting laid. Oh no—”_

“No... None of the above... Everything's fine. We just sort of camped out.”

 _“You? Camping? What has Ani_ done _to you?”_ She laughs. At least she knows he's the one Obi-Wan is dating. It's a good fucking punch in the gut.

“Yes, listen... Um... I have to go... to sleep. G'bye...”

_“B—”_

Obi-Wan hits the end-call button before Padme finishes the word, letting his phone slid out of his hand. Actually, he looks as if he's just fallen back asleep already.

“Was that Padme?” Anakin asks. Stupid! Stupid! He regrets the question as soon as it's asked.

Obi-Wan opens his eyes to look over at him, blinking against the soft morning light. “Anakin...”

“It's okay. I don't care if you're friends, it's not my business. It's fine. I'm fine,” he answers, not fine at all.

His eyes have drifted shut again. “Ani... Let's go back... to sleep...”

The nickname stings—a lot, actually—but he doesn't comment on it. “I'm cold.”

Obi-wan just smiles a little. “You're not a morning person...” He trails his hand over the blankets until he reaches Anakin's arm, tugging him closer.

“Says you. You're still half-asleep.” And Anakin's wide the fuck awake, thank you. He pulls away from him, sitting up and gathering the few belongings he brought.

Obi-Wan has sat up, too, watching him. “Where are you going?” he asks, and then clears his throat. “I'll drive you home.”

 _Not home,_ Anakin wants to correct. He bites his tongue. He's just being bitter. Shouldn't take it out on the man who's shown him literally nothing but kindness. “I'm getting a cab,” he snaps anyway.

“Don't be ridiculous. It's a mile's walk from the beach to town—” Obi-Wan goes on about how he won't let Anakin walk and blah blah blah, he's not listening. He's focusing on packing his things back up with hurried hands. There are tears burning in his eyes, and it's not just the sort of threatening, faint prick, either. It's full-blown he-is-actually-going-to-cry tears. It's too early in the morning for this.

He sniffs. He shouldn't care about Padme. He shouldn't care about how she broke up with him, or about how her existence is the constant reminder that he should be getting his life together, or about how she's best friends with the guy he just wanted to get with for a weekend but is suddenly in _way over his head with—_

Shit. He's crying alright.

“Hey, hey,” he hears Obi-Wan say quietly, hand resting between his shoulder blades. Anakin's hands finally still, setting down the blanket he was trying to fold but was really just fervently balling up. “I'm sorry,” Obi-Wan says, sounding completely awake now. Anakin grits his teeth hard and tries to save any remaining shards of his dignity. “I should have known this would bother you. I assumed—I don't know what I assumed. I'm sorry.”

Anakin works on getting his shit together, silent because he can't talk without it coming out as the cold spaghetti equivalent of human speech. He just smears the tears off his cheeks with sandy fists while Obi-Wan rubs slow circles into his back.

Eventually, he mumbles, “So you can drive me back?”

“Of course,” is the answer. No sarcastic remark about him changing his mind or anything. Just the simple 'of course,' calm as if nothing happened.

 

 

 

Anakin has never been a “day-drinker,” nor has he really ever been any kind of drinker. However, breaking into Ahsoka's stash in their shared mini-fridge was deemed necessary. He starts chugging the first bottle of any alcoholic beverage he grabs while sitting on the floor, haunted by the last words he said to Obi-Wan:

_“That was fun. I'll call you?”_

Chugging straight _vodka_ is actually a terrible idea, Anakin notices within two seconds. He sets he bottle down, coughing and sputtering for a considerably greater amount of seconds, before pulling himself together and taking a quick drink from it. Ahsoka will probably be pissed about this, but they're best friends and she can share.

Once he's successfully drunk, he moves himself from the floor of the dorm onto his bottom bunk bed, falling onto it in a way that's probably comedic.

Most people don't cry when they fall in love.

A lot do when they're drunk, though, so that's fair.

Why does Obi-Wan even _like_ him? A prestigious college professor going on dates with a guy who's failing classes. Maybe Obi-Wan doesn't even really like Anakin. Maybe it's just some big, elaborate prank he and Padme are pulling and—no, that wouldn't be like Padme at all. Or Obi-Wan, for that matter.

Despite pulling his actual heart out of his chest, Padme was always kind to him. Even in breaking up with him, she was so damn nice about it. That's probably what made it hurt.

When the door to the room busts open, it reveals Ahsoka bustling in to set down a bunch of grocery bags. Normally, Anakin would jump up and make a dive for the closest edible thing, but at the moment, he's fairly sure he can't move his legs.

“Hey! What—oh, shit.” She hurries over to him. “You okay, Skyguy?”

Anakin mumbles and groans a few things even he can't place.

“Shit, you're smashed! That was my stash, asshole!” She sighs and leans against the bed frame, probably realizing that it's still the A.M., and now probably isn't the time for yelling. “So... should I ask how the date went?”

Anakin scrubs a hand down his face. “It went really good,” he sniffs.

Ahsoka raises a brow, but just sighs fondly, putting a hand on her hip. “God damn,” she remarks, a bit of laughter in her voice. It actually does something to lift his mood. “You're so... Anakin.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading!!! i hope you liked this chapter, despite the lil bit of angsty angst thanks anakin. pls leave me a comment telling me what you thought!
> 
> +have a [tune](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ti29LJxvdw8) for late night beach make outs which i was listening to (prob why it was so DRAMATIC?)


	4. Anakin Gets Invited to Another Slumber Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a fking roller coaster
> 
> and was written at 4:20 a.m pre-editing so i mean ayyy lmao

“I don't know, Skyguy, it seems kind of sketchy.”

Anakin shakes his head, unable to tear his eyes away from the cryptically concise email. “No way,” he assures his roommate. “I know the guy.”

“Do you?”

“I mean, I've never talked to him. But I know _of_ him. I know people who know him.”

The email came at respectably early hour that morning, from a pretty well-known New York City artist by the name of Mace Windu. _Windu_ of all people. Anakin wanted to faint when he saw it sitting in his inbox. Apparently the artist discovered him through his work on a book cover—the same one Obi-Wan apparently saw.

And the email offered Anakin to be the guy's _apprentice._

“Can't he wait until the semester's over?” Ahsoka asks. “He's just asking you to literally drop out of school and just show up in New York City.”

Anakin snorts. She had a point. “You're not wrong,” he sighs. “Besides, I hate New York. It's loud.”

“It's loud here in Seattle.”

“Yeah, and I hate it here too.” He closes out the email. “He'll probably end up wanting money, I'm sure. A rich guy like that? Rich guys always want money.” He won't delete the email, though. He'll keep it around just to stare at occasionally and longingly sigh over.

Just as he goes to shut the laptop, there's the quiet _ding_ of a Facebook notification. Obi-Wan messaged him. Of course.

“Who's that?” Ahsoka asks, climbing off the bed to peer over Anakin's shoulder. “Oh, Handsome Beard. You know, you never did tell me why you came home destroyed after that date the other day.”

The date which Anakin has been thinking about nonstop since. Mostly thinking about Obi-Wan's arms around him. Mostly in the hours following one a.m.

Ahsoka reads over the brief message faster than Anakin does. “He's inviting you to his _place!_ ” When he glances over at her, she's beaming. “Dude, that's totally code for _let's bang._ Are you gonna do it?”

“Oh my _God,_ Ahsoka.” He looks back at the message, reading it for himself.

_Hey, why don't you come over to my house sometime? Maybe tomorrow evening?_

Tomorrow is Thursday, and he only has class until 11. Anakin types back a quick response, telling him tomorrow is fine.

“So, who do you think is gonna top?”

“ _Ahsoka!_ ”

“What? It's a valid question! You're gonna top right? You're all muscle-y and everything.”

“I'm _not_ having this conversation,” Anakin says, shutting the laptop and spinning around in the chair to face her. “And for the record, Obi-Wan's pretty muscle-y too.”

She rolls her eyes. “When are you going to introduce me to this legendary ex-professor?”

“Whenever you stop asking about my sex life.”

“My lips are sealed.”

 

 

 

Anakin starts to think this is a bad idea when he sees that Obi-Wan's house has _front gates._

No. Not house. Palace. The place is a fucking _monument,_ and here he is, rolling up in a cab he pays for with a wrinkled collection of small bills. He kind of wants to wave violently for the cab to come back and get him because no! Nevermind! Terrible idea!

Anakin is dressed in black jeans and boots and a t-shirt under an old leather jacket. His hair is blowing in his face and even though he showered, it doesn't feel tidy enough. He feels like he should be in the crisp tux he rented for high school prom.

When he walks up to the huge front door, he expects the butler to answer when he rings the bell. But when the door swings open effortlessly, it's Obi-Wan standing there in jeans and a t-shirt just like Anakin, some kind of fancy drink in hand.

A smile spreads over his face, blue eyes crinkling. “Come on in,” he says, and with those three simple words, a wave of ease washes over Anakin. This won't be so bad.

He follows Obi-Wan inside, walking into what he first assumes is the living room, but then realizes is just the foyer. There are probably a variety of living rooms. He tries to stop looking around like he's never seen a nice house before, which, come to think of it, _has_ he? He lets his eyes fall onto the casually-dressed Obi-Wan instead.

“Do you live here all alone?” Anakin asks, and then wonders if he should have.

Obi-Wan just shrugs, not seeming bothered by the question. “Minus the staff that comes by for cleaning and whatnot.”

“No daily chef?”

“For me, myself, and I?” He laughs, lowering his eyes. “You know, I like cooking.”

And then Anakin is looking around the great expanse that's only the foyer, eyes glazing over the spiral staircase. There's no way he could afford this by just being an English professor—fancy Coruscant professor or not. Maybe he has an inheritance. Maybe he's god damn royalty.

“You're like Gatsby.”

When he glances over, Obi-Wan is looking at him with narrowed eyes. “I never took you to be a fan of classic literature.”

"Can't blame you. I was asleep most of English class,” Anakin admits. “If you recall.”

“Either you were asleep or staring at me.”

“What can I say? I was an attentive student.”

“Oh, certainly. Attentive to my ass.”

Which Anakin grabs, taking the opportunity. “Certainly,” he agrees, and he swears he sees the smallest flush appear in Obi-Wan's face. And that, frankly, makes kissing him irresistible.

The kiss is just a bit more than chaste. A little smooch, if you will. Just enough to make Anakin's lips taste faintly of liquor. It still sends his heart pounding.

“I know you just got here, and it's getting dark,” Obi-Wan says. “But do you want to go for a drive? I know this spot with the most excellent view you have to see.”

Getting out of the giant, empty house sounds great. Getting out with Obi-Wan sounds even better. “Under one condition."

“Should I be concerned as to what that will be?”

He laughs a bit. “I'm the one driving.”

Obi-Wan lets out a whoosh of breath. “Is it because I'm drinking? This is my first drink of the night and most of the reason I have it is to seem—”

“No, no,” he quiets him quickly. “Listen, I just like driving. Love driving. And I don't exactly have any opportunity to.” Anakin suddenly remembers his hand is still resting on Obi-Wan's ass. He pulls him a little closer.

“You don't even know where we're going.” There's this hint of a challenge in Obi-Wan's voice.

“I think I can follow directions.”

Obi-Wan doesn't look like he believes that at all. “Alright, alright,” he agrees regardless. He flashes Anakin a smile before dipping out of his grasp and spinning around to set his drink down. “Only because you've inspired my pity.”

 

 

 

Country roads are apparently the best roads for ignoring speed limits in your boyfriend's car. They're all twisty and generally empty and some of the sharper turns might prove deadly, but Anakin thinks that's just part of the fun. Obi-Wan thinks this man will be the death of him.

“Anakin—” He's about to suggest for him to _cool it,_ but Anakin cuts him off.

“What've you got in here?” He glances down at the radio, shuffling through the CDs Obi-Wan left in.

“ _Eyes on the road!_ ”

Anakin just throws him this reckless grin before doing as asked, selecting a CD at random. Good choice. If they're going to act like maniacs, they might as well listen to music that makes them feel like maniacs. The first song comes in with a slow guitar solo, and Anakin cranks the volume.

Alright, that's very loud.

Obi-Wan doesn't mind.

“Next left,” he mentions, having to raise his voice above the music.

“You know, this is so _freeing_ ,” Anakin says after taking the turn. He's kind of shouting in order to be heard. “We could go anywhere right now, Obi-Wan. Anywhere. We could go to the fucking _moon_.”

_Yes, and we're going to be descending into the afterlife if you don't slow the fuck down,_ he thinks bitterly, but bites his tongue. He likes seeing Anakin like this. He looks happy. The setting sun is glittering in his eyes. Obi-Wan holds onto that happiness, lets it soak into himself as well, as he relaxes back against the red leather seat.

“This is it,” Obi-Wan says when the road eventually opens up to trail along a sloping cliff, overlooking the dark, winter water of the ocean and the forests of spruces and firs.

Anakin pulls off the road to a pretty good view. He turns down the music. “Should we be admiring this with the sounds of nature?”

Obi-Wan considers this. His ears are ringing. He shakes his head. “No fucking way.” And he turns the volume right back up.

They admire the view for a while, the vastness of the forests below them and the greater vastness of the sea that stretches on forever. Obi-Wan smokes a cigarette, Anakin taps his thumb against the steering wheel to the music.

After another song or two, the only thing Obi-Wan is admiring is the feel of Anakin's lips on his own.

Obi-Wan has both his hands slid back into Anakin's hair, kneeling across the seat to face him fully, and Anakin grabs his ass to pull him closer. That is, until Obi-Wan loses his balance across the seat and falls back, but Anakin just follows him down so he's lying over him. Perfect.

He's pressing kiss after hungry kiss to Obi-Wan's neck, which is definitely going to leave bruises that he has no idea how he'll hide at work. Anakin uses teeth and tongue and _wow—_ he kisses like a god.

Obi-Wan twists around so that Anakin rolls over and _he's_ the one on top now. He's the one assaulting Anakin's neck with kisses that border on violent, pulling his hair until he can hear him moaning over the music.

Once he's got Anakin reduced to a melted puddle of a man, Obi-Wan sits back up, now in the driver's seat, and restarts the engine.

Anakin clambers back into a sitting position, red-faced and breathless with his hair even more tangled than usual.

“You did that on purpose,” he breathes, glaring.

“So I could drive us home, precisely,” Obi-wan says, and he laughs as he pulls back out onto the main road.

“You could've just _asked_.”

He shrugs. “Be realistic, Anakin. You would never have let me.” He shoots him a grin. “Seat-belts!”

Anakin clicks his seat-belt into place, grumbling something bitter.

“I'll repay you when we get home, hm?”

Anakin just raises a brow, kicking his feet up onto the dashboard. So much for safety. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, I haven't decided yet.”

 

 

 

Anakin quickly finds out what that means.

And he also finds out that no one sucks cock like Obi-Wan Kenobi. He took Anakin into his mouth like it was his god-given _right,_ and now Anakin is collapsed on the couch of the living room—is this even considered a living room?—with Obi-Wan kneeling between his legs.

Every time he glances up into Anakin's heavy eyes, his heart skyrockets and he feels like melting and _oh, God,_ where did he learn this? Where did Obi-Wan learn to take him so deep, while glancing up into his eyes with the slightest furrow to his brow and an even fainter moan in his throat?

Anakin is practically glued to the couch, paralyzed until he slides one hand into Obi-Wan's hair. Just a gentle touch. He's not going to completely lose it over a good blowjob. He's just going to _kinda_ lose it.

But then Obi-Wan takes his mouth away entirely, looking up at him with a breathy grin. “You look like a wreck. Are you quite alright?”

At the moment, Anakin is totally sure he's never heard sexier words. Maybe it's just how Obi-Wan said them. Maybe it's because those words are mixed with the spit dripping from his bottom lip. Either way, the only thing Anakin manages to reply with is a pathetically needy:

“Yes. Please. I—”

Which is all the invitation Obi-Wan needs to keep going, finishing him off quickly after that.

Anakin cleans up in what is likely the biggest bathroom he's been in. At the far wall is this bathtub that looks more like a hot-tub that has a flatscreen TV hanging by it. This place is ridiculous. How does he _afford_ this?

When he glances in the mirror on his way out, it's to suddenly find his neck is covered in dark hickies. The kind of hickies that don't hide all too well behind Ahsoka's borrowed makeup.

Not only that, but his hair is an absolute wreck. He throws it up into a bun with the hair tie from his wrist. The style might prove to be convenient, actually, depending on Obi-Wan's mood.

The man in question is reclined across the white couch, legs crossed at the ankles with shoes still on, as he's smoking a cigarette. Smoking in the house—Anakin's mom would have flipped. He watches as Obi-Wan kicks off his shoes, letting them drop unceremoniously to the floor.

When Anakin quietly clears his throat, Obi-Wan sits up lethargically, looking over at him. His hair has fallen from it's usually neat place, strands falling against his forehead. He gives Anakin a smile—weak, compared to his usual glowing grin—before looking down at the half-smoked cigarette between his finger and thumb. Weird way to hold a cigarette. Like he's got to hide it at any second.

Anakin hops back over onto the couch beside him and ducks his head in to kiss his cheek, beard scratching at Anakin's lips. “Need me to repay you? Mm?”

Obi-Wan just laughs a bit, resting his hand on Anakin's leg. “Later,” he says.

Anakin slips his hand into his. “You seem sad.”

He shakes his head, leaning back. “I'm just thinking, is all,” he says, like that's some kind of reassurance.

Anakin leans his arm against the back of the couch, resting his head on his fist. “What about?”

“Artists,” he answers. The smile is gone. “The poor bastards. You know, my step father was an artist.”

'Poor bastards,' indeed. Anakin considers himself to be the human incarnation of suffering when it comes to art. “He isn't anymore?”

“He's dead now.”

Oh. Shit. “I'm sorry, Obi-Wan.”

“He was murdered.” Well, double shit. “He was... out late one night, coming back from this big showcase.” He immediately launches into the tale, which Anakin doesn't know whether to dread or not. He's not all that good at comforting people. “I was a bit bored, a bit worried. So I went out into the city looking for him. I saw it happen.”

“Oh.”

“I was frozen for a second. I remember not being able to move my legs... but then I was running and I was _screaming_ and I—” He sighs, and takes a drag from his cigarette that's been becoming one long, cylindrical ash. He laughs a bit on the exhale. “I beat the living shit out of him.”

“Who?”

“The asshole who stabbed my step father.”

“Oh.”

“I'm not a violent person, Anakin. But I—yeah.” He blinks a few times, blond lashes fluttering. “It didn't matter, though. My step father was dead.” When he blinks again, it sends a tear leaking down his face. He takes another quick drag from the cigarette while Anakin brushes the tear away.

But that isn't enough. The small gesture doesn't feel like nearly enough at all, so the second Obi-Wan puts out the cigarette in the ash tray on the coffee table, Anakin throws his arms around him in a tight hug.

It catches him off-guard and he stiffens a bit at first, but quickly relaxes and holds onto Anakin gently. He's good at hugs. Probably good at everything. Anakin rubs his back through the thin, soft t-shirt, fingers trailing along the notches in his spine, smoothing circles.

“Oh, God,” Obi-Wan whispers faintly into Anakin's hair.

“What?” he asks just as softly.

He sniffs, and holds Anakin a bit tighter, but when he speaks, Anakin can sense him smiling. “I think I may love you a lot...”

“I—”

Anakin is about to respond, but Obi-Wan draws away from the hug and clears his throat. “As I was saying,” he says, continuing normally. He laughs. “My step father is the reason I'm so wealthy. The reason for all of... this. He left everything to me.”

Which implies whoever Obi-Wan's step dad was had been one hell of a famous artist. “What was his name? If I might ask?”

“Qui-Gon Jinn.”

Well, that makes sense.

Actually, Anakin has no clue how he didn't fit the pieces together sooner and he's a little disappointed in himself. “Qui-Gon _fucking_ Jinn!” he exclaims. “Sorry. He was kind of my idol as a kid. He inspired me to become an artist—if he'd never existed, I—I wouldn't have ever—” He breaks off with a frustrated sigh for the lack of words.

Obi-Wan is just smiling warmly at him. “He would have adored you, Anakin.”

Anakin feels suddenly alight, sort of like he might faint. He lies back against the pillows at the arm of the couch instead, tugging Obi-Wan along to lay against him. He grabs the blanket off the back of the couch, throwing it over them. Perfect time for snuggling.

Anakin threads his fingers into Obi-Wan's hair, gently combing through it, while his other hand is clasped with one of his.

“Speaking of famous artists,” Anakin murmurs, after a while of staring out the dark window above the couch. “I got this random email from _Mace Windu._ ”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, he wants me to be his apprentice in New York.” He rolls his eyes and looks back down at the man lying on top of him. “I'm not going to do it, though.”

Obi-Wan props himself up onto one arm suddenly, so he can peer down at Anakin. “Why the hell not?”

Anakin just averts his gaze. “I'm not good enough for that sort of thing.” He watches Obi-Wan open his mouth to protest, but he keeps talking. “And anyway, I can't leave because I'm in love with you.” Whoops.

“In _love_ with me,” he echoes quietly, raising his eyebrows. He lets out a sigh. “Oh, Anakin.” He moves his free hand to gently run his fingers over Anakin's cheek. “Please... don't go.”

Those last three words sound almost afraid, so starkly different from the usual tone he takes. And maybe, somehow, Obi-Wan needs Anakin just as much as Anakin needs him.

“I won't.”

Obi-Wan presses a quick kiss to his lips. “Good.” And he lays his head back down on Anakin's chest. “You know... we shouldn't go to sleep. Padme's coming for breakfast at ten.”

Doesn't matter. Anakin can leave at nine.

 

 

 

When he wakes up, all he knows is that it's definitely past nine.

He finds Obi-Wan sitting on the other end of the couch, hair all flattened on one side of his head, and he's saying something too loudly to someone who Anakin decides isn't him. He glances at the door just in time to see some guy in nice clothes say something about ' _very well, sir,'_ before ducking out of the room. Of course, Obi-Wan has servants. Why wouldn't he have servants.

Anakin sits up, rubbing his bleary eyes with a groan. “Obi-Wan, what's going on?”

Obi-Wan looks at him with this nauseated gaze of sympathy mixed with dread. “Padme's here.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *imperial march plays quietly*


	5. It Rains for a Week and Everyone's Somewhat Upset

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey man we all need a lil angst!!! and fluff. and fluffy angst. this a Mess

Obi-Wan notices his palms are sweating, while he heads down the hall with Anakin behind him. The house is quiet in the early morning, its silence feeling like an ominous warning. Anakin refused to sneak out like nothing more than an embarrassing one-night stand—which he can't be blamed for. Obi-Wan would have. He's not the best with confrontation. Anakin, however, is the actual king of confrontation.

Padme is waiting in the kitchen, her black coat draped over the chair she sits in at the kitchen table. Her hair is up in two buns, looking still damp from showering, and she's wearing a thick beige sweater.

“Hey!” Obi-Wan greets his friend. “Who's hungry?”

Padme twists around in the chair, smiling widely. A dazzling smile. No wonder Anakin fell for her. “Good morning—oh. Anakin. I... didn't expect to see you here.” The smile falters.

“Hi.”

Obi-Wan heads deeper into the kitchen, throwing open the closet to give his nervous hands something to do while they talk. “So, how about eggs?” he asks. “Scrambled? Fried? Poached?” He glances over his shoulder at them.

“Well, we haven't seen each other in a while,” Padme says to Anakin, ignoring Obi-Wan completely.

Anakin is still lingering by the doorway, a few feet away from the table with his hands shoved into his pants pockets. “No, we haven't.”

Obi-Wan turns away again to open up the fridge. He hears Padme take in a breath. “How have you been?”

“Fine,” Anakin answers too quickly. “I've been... fine.”

“Well, gosh darn, would you look at that,” Obi-Wan huffs. He turns back to them. “We've run out of eggs. Pancakes could still work. Or would you rather have waffles?”

“You look tired. Have you been taking care of yourself?” Padme asks. Neither of the two are even looking at Obi-Wan across the room.

Anakin frowns. “What do you mean by that?”

Obi-Wan claps his hands together suddenly. “I'll just make both!”

Padme raises a brow. “There's no need to get _defensive,_ Ani, it was just a question.”

“Oh.” He shrugs. “Well, I'm just saying, you don't need to start acting like my mother when we're only two minutes into this conversation.”

“All I asked was if you were okay,” she snaps.

“I'm _fine!_ ”

“Fine.”

Obi-Wan starts pulling ingredients from the shelf, listening to the tense silence within the kitchen. He measures them out, adding everything together in his favorite mixing bowl while he tries to concentrate on the familiar task. _Grandma Kenobi, bring me strength_ , he thinks miserably, whisking together the batter.

“So, remind me why you came? At ten a.m.? For breakfast with Obi-Wan?”

 _Anakin, please shut up,_ Obi-Wan pleads mentally, hoping he can just project the words across the room and directly into Anakin's confusing storm of a brain.

“Because he invited me. Friends can't have breakfast with friends, now?”

Obi-Wan almost drops the pan he's setting down on the stove at this, but neither of them respond to the loud clatter created. He turns on the stove.

“You and Obi-Wan must be pretty good friends.”

“What are you insinuating?”

“You think Obi-Wan likes you more than me.”

He turns around at this, eyes going wide, because _that_ was simply uncalled for. “ _Anakin."_ When the man glances over at the sound of his name, it's a glare.

“The only one who thinks that is _you_ ,” Padme snaps.

“Anakin, why don't you come help me with this?” Obi-Wan asks, all but pleading. Ignored again.

“Friends,” Anakin snorts.

“Not like you'd know anything about those,” she mutters harshly. “Maybe you would have more if you weren't like this.”

“You're the one who couldn't _stay out of my fucking life!_ ” Anakin snarls.

“ _I_ was your _girlfriend!”_

“ _Stop shouting!_ ” Obi-Wan cries. It finally gets their attention, both of their heads turning suddenly. Letting out a whoosh of breath, he feels himself crumbling under the vicious glares of his best friend and his boyfriend. “I just wanted to have a nice morning.”

“Now you're ruining his nice morning—”

“Oh, Anakin, the only one ruining the peace is you.” Her voice is utterly feral. Obi-Wan makes a note then and there to never make Padme angry with him.

“Because _you're_ here!” Anakin shouts. When Padme doesn't answer, he goes on. “You fuck everything up, Padme. You might have perfect grades and a perfect _life_ but you act like a fucking _queen—_ and guess what? You're not.” He laughs. “Everyone bow down to Queen Amidala!”

“Stop it.” The words are made of pure ice.

“Queen Amidala! I'm so pretty and perfect! I could never do anything wrong!”

“ _Stop it!_ ” she shouts. “You're being ridiculous right now! Why can't you just chill out?”

“Why can't _you_ manage to stay the _fuck_ out of my life?”

The bowl of pancake batter suddenly goes fumbling out of Obi-Wan's hands and onto the floor with a startling crash. The sound of the front door slamming shut seems louder.

Then Obi-Wan is alone with Padme in the kitchen, leaning back against the counter and gripping it in his hands. After a minute of silence, he speaks.

“I think it could've gone worse. What do you think?”

Padme has her back to him, looking down at the kitchen table, but the second her shoulders start shaking, he hurries over. He pulls her into a tight hug, letting her lean her damp face against his shirt.

“You know, you're going to mess up your makeup like this,” he tells her in a gentle, joking sort of way.

Padme sighs, pulling away from the hug and he lets his arms drop back to his sides. “I don't care about my stupid makeup, Obi,” she mumbles. She still uses a napkin to dab delicately beneath her eyelashes.

He pulls out the chair that's next to her and sits down in it, leaning against the table. “I'm sorry,” he says. “He was over last night and we fell asleep. I should have thought this through better.”

She's just shaking her head, looking at her hands in her lap. “I'm not mad at you.” She looks off at the spilled pancake batter on the floor. “It's just a difficult situation.”

“I guess you're not friends,” he sighs.

“Guess not. But I'd rather we were.”

“If you want to be friends, you'll need to talk,” he says. “Civilly... without the shouting...”

She gives a quiet laugh. “Try telling him that.”

“He didn't mean anything he said,” he tries to assure her. “He's just surprised at your being here and so he acted out.”

A limp shrug. “You're probably right.”

“But that doesn't excuse him for acting like an absolute dick.”

She gives him a half-hearted smile. “Thanks, Obi.” She stands. “I'm going to clean this up. You should go talk to him.”

Padme is too kind for her own good. He claps her gently on the shoulder with a smile before following Anakin outside.

It's miserable outside, the light drizzle of rain having turned into a complete, frigid downpour. It starts soaking him immediately, while he walks barefoot around the house in search of Anakin. It's not as if he could have gotten far.

He finds Anakin standing in the cold rain, leaning against the house and looking at the muddy ground as if it's the reason for everything. The rain has soaked him thoroughly.

“Hey!” Obi-Wan shouts over the sound of the heavy rain on concrete and earth. Anakin doesn't even look at him, so he walks over, grabs him by the shoulder, and spins him around. “You're out of control,” he snaps. “You've made her cry!”

Anakin just keeps his eyes on the wet ground, his hair falling in dripping pieces against his forehead. “Are you mad at me?” he asks quietly.

What? “Mad at you? I mean—” He huffs a sigh. “Well, you've upset me a bit. But more importantly, you've upset Padme.”

“Fuck Padme,” Anakin grumbles. “I don't need a parent.”

“She's only looking out for you.”

“I don't need someone to look out for me, alright?” he snaps suddenly, raising his voice. “I'm _fine._ And you know what? I _have_ a mother. She's _dead_.”

Obi-Wan feels his stomach twist into a knot. “Anakin...” Of all the times to mention that kind of detail...

“Look, I...” He scrubs a dripping hand down his dripping face. “I just need to borrow the phone. To call a cab.”

“Oh, no, no,” Obi-Wan says, shaking his head. “I'll drive you after breakfast.”

“Forget breakfast, Obi-Wan!” he shouts suddenly. “I don't need anything from you!” Ouch.

Anakin runs his fingers back through his damp hair. They're shaking, and he's sort of crying. “Just let me... borrow the phone. I need to... I need...”

Obi-Wan shushes him, rubbing his arm. “Sure. Go ahead,” he says quietly. He doesn't like seeing him so upset. Hates it, actually. “There's a phone upstairs... and I'll get you a towel to dry off. Let me pay your fare, alright?”

Anakin nods a bit so he presses a kiss to his rain-soaked forehead. Both of them are drenched, now, and he hopes neither of them get sick from this.

“Call me later?”

Anakin answers with another nod, and Obi-Wan leads the way back inside.

 

 

 

When he dreams, it's all dark.

There's screaming. Padme's screaming. Long wails of agony that send fear through him the way lightning snaps through black clouds. Through the storm, he can see her crying. She's asking him _why._

In the back of his head, Obi-Wan is pleading with him. He can't even tell what he's saying but it's something desperate.

When Padme cries his name, and her face shifts into that of his _mom_ , Anakin jolts awake with a sharp gasp. He's upright in bed immediately.

He works on catching his panting breath, focusing on the familiar surroundings of the windowless dorm room at Tatooine University. He glances around the dark room, lit only by a small string of lights by the door. Within that light, he spots someone sitting at the desk and jumps with surprise.

“Hey,” Ahsoka says tentatively. She's still fully dressed, her laptop casting a dim, glowing light onto her face. “You alright?”

Anakin groans, pushing his fingers into his hair. He's sweating. “I'm fine, Snips,” he grumbles.

“Yeah... I was thinking about waking you up, but last time I did that you almost punched me,” she continues. “So, then I was like, maybe I can just shake his foot, and I was about to, but then you just woke up and... now we're here.” She shuts her laptop. “You have nightmares a lot.”

“Yeah. I do.”

“I noticed they stopped for a while. Around the time you started seeing Obi-Wan, actually.”

He doesn't even _know_ how he feels about that bit of information. “Padme was there this morning,” he says after a minute. “They're best friends, you know? Padme and Obi-Wan. Best friends.”

She gives him a pitying look. “Man.” She looks down at the floor, leaning back in the chair. “That sucks...”

“Padme and I got into this huge argument. It was so stupid and then I just left.” All his fault.

Ahsoka mulls this over for a minute. “You know what you all could use?” she says, perking up within the darkness.

“Couples' counselling? Alcohol? A sense of purpose?”

“A _party_.”

He laughs. As if Obi-Wan would ever be the partying type. “I just need to make up with Padme. I'll call her later—oh, shit!”

“What?”

He jumps out of bed, grabbing Ahsoka's phone off the desk.

“What are you—”

He starts punching in the number he has down by heart. “Obi-Wan wanted me to call him.”

“To call—Do you even know what time it is?” She's looking at him like he's crazy as he holds the phone up to his ear. Maybe he is. “It's almost three, Skyguy.”

Of course. Obi-Wan is asleep, likely having class to teach in the morning. Anakin shakes his head, hanging up after not receiving an answer. “You're right.” He just hopes Obi-Wan wasn't worried about him.

No, Anakin decides. He probably wasn't.

“Try again in the morning,” she suggests. “I'm gonna hit the hay. You should get back to sleep.”

So Anakin lies back down, tugging the blankets over him and shutting his eyes. If he opens them, all he sees is the dark wall. He'd rather see Obi-Wan.

He tries to fall asleep to these thoughts, of Obi-Wan in bed beside him, of his Anakin's arms around him like they had slept on the couch. But even as Ahsoka falls asleep, he's still lying awake.

He climbs out of bed, hooking up his laptop and his tablet, turning the brightness down after it blinds him first. He sketches this and that for a while before deciding on what to really draw. It's the same man he's drawn before, though this time Anakin captures the angles in his shoulders, the slope of his back as he's facing away, the messiness of his blond hair, half-pressed into a pillow.

An hour before he has to wake up for class, Anakin falls asleep after uploading the second drawing that he's titled  _Professor Kenobi_.

 

 

 

It's raining.

Fucking endless rain.

Obi-Wan watches it with half-lidded eyes through the slanted blinds of the window in his bedroom, where just enough light filters in to not be obnoxious. Outside, the sky is gray and he expects it to continue being gray for possibly ever.

Just one of those days.

Days in which he cancels class, days in which he's not tired and doesn't sleep but passes hours with his eyes shut and mind only slightly functioning. It probably is depression, but he's not going to admit that to himself. Not yet, anyway. Besides, ' _depression'_ is just a guess. A theory. It could very well be the weather that's taking such a toll on his mood. Yes, the gloomy weather and the tiring tension between Padme and Anakin yesterday.

From the little table he has beside the bed that's too big, his cellphone starts ringing for the fourth time today. He ignored it the three other times. He knows it's Anakin, and he probably _should_ answer. What if the kid needs something? What if he's in trouble?

Obi-Wan rolls over with a sigh, pulling his phone off the charger and sliding to answer. He turns it on speaker, letting his arm just sort of fall beside him. He clears his throat.

“Yeah?” he answers, and then realizes that was probably too quiet. He clears his throat, propping himself up on his elbow. “Hello?”

_“Are you okay?”_

Anakin sounds so worried. “What? I'm alright. How about yourself?”

_“I— I'm fine. I know you said to call you, and I forgot until it was like three in the morning—”_

Shit. “I'm sorry,” Obi-Wan says suddenly. “I should have picked up.”

_“No, no, don't worry about it. I'm sure you're busy at Coruscant.”_

“Actually, I haven't gone in today,” he murmurs. “I'm afraid I'm feeling a bit under the weather.”

“ _What's the matter?”_

He sighs. “Oh, you know... The... usual.” The _usual?_ What kind of response is that?

“ _Obi-Wan, you can tell me anything, you know. You sure you're alright?”_

He looks at the sheets of his bed for a while without seeing them, mouth open on the verge of a response. But when he speaks, he crumbles. “No. No, not really. I'm not.” He sighs, squeezing his eyes shut. “I'm sorry. I should—I should call you later, yeah?”

There's the sound of movement from the other line, while Obi-Wan is cursing himself mentally, but then Anakin answers, “ _I'm gonna come over._ ”

Oh, hell. Anakin can't see him like this. “No, Anakin, don't—”

 _“On my way!”_ He can practically _hear_ him smiling, right before hanging up too soon for Obi-Wan to get another word in.

He lets the phone fall out of his hands, falling back against the bed with a heavy sigh. Fuck.

 

 

 

The short walk from the end of the driveway to the front door of Obi-Wan's house leaves Anakin damp from the rain, but at least it doesn't completely drench him. He wipes the droplets off his face once he's under the protection of the awning. He rings the door bell, tapping his foot while he waits for an answer. It's unlike Obi-Wan to... not be perfectly okay. It's just strange to think. Obi-Wan is the one who has everything together. He's probably just sick. The common cold, after being out in the rain.

The door swings open, revealing an older man, hair neatly combed and dressed presentably. “Good afternoon, sir,” he greets Anakin. “My name is C. Threepio. I'm afraid Mr. Kenobi is feeling rather unwell, but I can tell him you have stopped by.”

Personal butler. Right. “No, it's alright,” Anakin says. “I'm his boyfriend. He's expecting me.”

“Oh! Very well, then. Right this way.”

Anakin follows the man inside, letting him lead him through the various halls of Obi-Wan's intricate palace of a home, forgetting to leave his wet shoes by the door like he's probably expected to do.

“I say, it is a good thing you came by,” Threepio mentions while leading Anakin up a set of stairs. “Mr. Kenobi is in one of his moods again, and I'm certain he will appreciate the company, sir.”

“You can just call me Anakin,” he says quickly. He tilts his head. “Is he okay?”

“Oh, I believe so. This happens often.” He stops in front of a large white door. “Mr. Kenobi should be just inside. I'll leave you to it!”

Anakin thanks him, watches him head back off down the hall, then gently raps at the door with his knuckles. “Obi-Wan?”

When he gets no response but a twinge of worry in his stomach, he opens the door. Inside reveals a huge master bedroom that he expected to be glowing and full of sunlight but is instead dark. The blinds are open, but still pulled down over the window that reveals the gray weather in what looks like unkempt gardens.

The large bed against the wall is a mass of blankets, mostly a big white comforter and white sheets. Only one pillow. Someone who's used to sleeping alone. Twisted among the blankets with his back to the door is Obi-Wan. Anakin pauses when his eyes fall onto him. He looks exactly the way he did in Anakin's drawing.

And he's also asleep.

Anakin quietly takes off his rain-sodden boots, leaving them by the door which he gently shuts, followed by his jacket. He wanders over to the bed, climbs onto the sea of blankets, and wraps his arm over the man sleeping within them. He leans his face into the messy hair in front of him, inhaling softly.

“I told you not to come,” Obi-Wan says quietly, evidently not having been asleep at all.

“I'm not leaving you alone while you're feeling bad. What kind of boyfriend would I be?”

Anakin props himself up onto his elbow, while Obi-Wan rolls over with a sigh to look up at him. There are creases in the side of his face from the pillow, and a tired look to his eyes, That look diminishes a bit and is replaced with the crinkles to the corners when he smiles. Anakin pushes Obi-Wan's hair out of his face, fingers stroking through his hair for a while. He's never seen him look so disheveled. Anakin lets his hand linger against his cheek.

Obi-Wan just laughs and rolls over so he's pressed up against Anakin, face buried in his chest and arm wrapped over his side. “I must look terrible,” he murmurs with a chuckle.

“It's a good look,” Anakin says, which only prompts him to laugh again. “The bedhead? Excellent choice. Chic.”

Obi-Wan sighs. “You smell good.”

“Your entire _house_ smells good.” Mostly like vanilla. He glances down at the man curled up against him, stroking his hair again. “You know, that Threepio guy says this happens a lot.”

“I'm beginning to think my theoretical depression isn't so theoretical.”

“What?”

“I don't know,” he mumbles. “It was just an idea I had for a while, a thought, a explanation for times like... this.”

Anakin kisses him on the head. “That's okay,” he says, because it is. “And you know what? I have an idea.” Maybe Ahsoka wasn't too far-off.

“An idea?”

“We should have a party,” he says. “We could have it right here and invite everyone, and I could make the playlist, and—”

“Anakin, you're forgetting something. You and Padme are my only friends. I don't really have any.”

“Neither do I. But hey, I know a ton of assholes we can invite.”

Obi-Wan glances up at him skeptically. “Please don't get my house trashed.”

He feels a grin tugging at his lips. “Is that a confirmation? Should we do it?”

“We have no occasion—”

That's a blasphemous assertion. “As if you need an _occasion_ to throw a party!”

Which, apparently, is all Anakin needs to say to convince him. He can't wait to tell Ahsoka.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls leave me a cool comment if you liked it! Or if you Hated it!! yall keep me going tbh. seriously i am writing several novels and i am simultaneously the queen of procrastination.,, just imagine my entire house on fire and me trying to blow it out, if you need a visual. LMAO everyone who likes this is the light of my life and i love u all.
> 
>  
> 
> +i feel like i should make a PLAYLIST for this. mostly bc i make a playlist for virtually everything and i have a set of songs i always end up listening to when writing this fic. should i???? my 8tracks is on my profile :0


	6. The One with the Party at Obi-Wan's Palace- I Mean- House

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *rocky theme song plays as i get my life back together* *takes deep breath* GUYS IM SORRY THIS TOOK A MONTH TO UPDATE,, I could provide some excuses but it's the Usual feat. issues with my laptop. Again. ANYWAY i hope everyone likes this THRILLING update

To be blunt, Anakin doesn't go to many parties. It's not that he doesn't get _invited,_ it's just that people don't know him. Anakin is a _gem_ , of course people would invite him.

Ahsoka does her makeup on the top bunk bed, holding a small mirror in one hand, and a brush in the other. She's putting on a heavy, dark shade of blue eyeshadow that she’s somehow able to make look amazing. It’s unsurprising, really. She has a knack for doing that.

“Also, can we not make this a remix of the _last_ party we went to together?” she says, setting the brush down and opting for a smaller one. “You straight up smashed that bottle over that guy's head.”

Anakin laughs at the memory, going through the closet to fix what he’s wearing. “Dooku deserved it.”

He finally decides on a shirt, throwing on his favorite jacket over it, and when he looks back over, Ahsoka is putting her white hair into two thick braids.

“At least I finally get to see this guy's house,” she says, wrapping a hair tie around the second braid before hopping off the bunk.

Anakin hopes she's just as awed by the mansion as he first was, but at the same time, he's certain Ahsoka will be able to keep her cool. She's good at that, unlike him.

“We better get going,” Anakin mentions. “The cab'll be here soon.” Hopefully they'll get to the house early so they can help set up. Padme is helping Obi-Wan with the last minute preparations, but Anakin was the one that suggested a party, and helping out would help him feel better, Padme present or not.

Besides, he should... probably apologize to her at some point tonight.

 

 

 

They arrive a full hour later than expected.

Which is all thanks to the traffic on the way, clogged up from some sort of car accident. By the time they walk in through the front door, the party has already started. A steady bass rhythm pulses from within the house, the whole place lit up with the moon rising behind it.

When they get inside, Anakin and Ahsoka both pause.

Obi-Wan's house is _packed_ with people.

Music is blasting, people are hanging around and dancing, drinks are spilling, and it feels like everyone is yelling.

“We only invited like fifty people, I swear,” Anakin says, looking at the conglomeration of mostly strangers in horror. “I didn’t even think that many would show up.”

“So, everyone just brought a thousand friends with them?” Ahsoka asks. When Anakin turns his horrified gaze onto her, he finds her grinning.

“What—are you actually _excited?_ ”

She laughs and reaches up to ruffle his hair. He hates when she does that. “It's a party, Skyguy. Loosen up! This place is huge!” She starts heading toward the kitchen. “Maybe you just need something to drink.”

Anakin follows her into the kitchen, glancing around at the other patrons within the area. He recognizes a few faces, thankfully. Even one or two that he actually invited.

“This house is full of drunk people,” Anakin whispers frantically while Ahsoka passes him a stylish-looking bottle of beer from a cooler.

“Chillax,” she laughs, popping open her bottle and taking a drink. “You're acting like this is _your_ place.”

Anakin takes a long pull from his drink. It's actually not terrible. “Yeah, well, I have a feeling Obi-Wan isn't gonna be all that thrilled,” he murmurs. “He's... kind of... I don't know. Reserved?”

“ _Anakin! There you are!”_

Ahsoka just starts laughing as none other than Obi-Wan Kenobi makes his way over to them, grinning widely. His manages to keep his fancy drink—complete with bright umbrella—from sloshing out as he bumps into people along the way. Anakin can't help but let himself smile, feeling the tension inside of him melt away.

“I thought you said you were coming early?” Obi-Wan asks.

“I did, but our cab got caught in traffic."

“For a whole _hour_ I got to listen to Anakin talk about how excited he was,” Ahsoka puts in, causing Anakin to roll his eyes and Obi-Wan to only smile wider.

“You must be Anakin's roommate,” he says, shaking her hand.

“Ahsoka Tano, nice to meet you, buddy. Skyguy here's told me so much about you.”

Oh, god. “Snips—please—”

“Oh, _has_ he?”

“He sure has!”

Anakin decides this is the best time to start chugging his beer. Obi-Wan is definitely tipsy, he notices with some amount of amusement. Obi-Wan being drunk just seems so…out of character?

_"Obi!”_ comes a cheerful shout from the front door.

The man in question turns, waving to whoever has entered. “Look who it is!” he shouts back. He glances back at them. “It was lovely meeting you, Miss Tano,” he says, which causes her to laugh. “And you—” He leaves a quick kiss on Anakin's lips, then leans close to his ear, beard scratching at his cheek. “Don't get too drunk,” Obi-Wan whispers. It sends butterflies straight to his stomach.

Then Obi-Wan is fighting through the sea of people to greet whoever has just come in.

Anakin leans against the kitchen counter with a sigh that's only slightly miserable.

“So, you were saying how he's reserved?” Ahsoka asks.

“He usually is.” He shrugs. “I didn't even think he'd _throw_ the party, let alone have it this big.”

“Well, I gotta hand it to you, Skyguy,” Ahsoka says. “He's even cuter in person than on his Facebook profile.”

Anakin groans, scrubbing a hand down his face. “He _is_.”

“Oh, shit,” she blurts suddenly, grabbing his arm which causes him to glance up. “Alert, alert—ex-girlfriend in the premises.”

“Oh, god,” he mumbles. Padme is standing and chatting with a few people right down the hall near the kitchen, her hair done up in one of those extravagant styles as usual.

“Is it just me, or has she gotten hotter?”

“Your best friend's ex is off limits, sorry.”

“What, can't I appreciate her? I mean _wow_.”

Anakin stops listening, while Ahsoka goes on about how great Padme looks tonight. Instead, he quickly finishes what's left of his beer. “I should go apologize to her.”

“Yeah, probably,” she agrees. “Now?”

When she breaks away from the people she was talking to and starts heading down the hall, Anakin figures yeah, alright, now is probably the best. Who knows when he’ll have the chance to find her alone again?

“If I die, will you come to my funeral?” he mumbles.

“Yeah, if I'm not busy, I guess.”

He claps her on the shoulder and gives her a firm nod of thanks before going off after Padme.

 

           

 

“Hey,” he says a little too quietly. He lifts his arm so he can place his hand on her shoulder, but then decides against it. She turns to find his hand awkwardly hovering before he lets it fall.

“Oh, hello, Anakin,” she says. “Obi-Wan said you were coming to help set up...”

He rubs the back of his neck, glancing away. “Yeah, our cab got caught in traffic,” he explains. “But anyway, I wanted to apologize. To you. About… things.”

Her tight-lipped, neutral expression finally breaks into a bit of a smile, eyes crinkling. “Things,” she repeats. “I see.”

“About... pretty much everything I said the other day during breakfast,” he murmurs. Someone bumps into him on their way by but he shrugs it off. “I was being a jerk.”

“Yeah, you were,” she agrees, ducking out of the way as another person passes by. “But I forgive you. I know you weren't expecting me there and things haven't been all that great between us. But I just want things with us to be okay, Ani.”

He nods, feeling a rush of relief at the words. He really appreciates Padme. “I do too,” he agrees. “So... are we friends?”

She flashes her pearly teeth in a smile and rests her hand on his shoulder. A nod. “Friends.”

           

 

 

Getting drunk wasn’t truly the plan, and yet, Obi-Wan feels like he’s floating a few feet off the ground, all while his limbs are too heavy for his body.

Yes, he is definitely drunk—and it wasn't his intention to get quite so inebriated, but he supposes it was inevitable. Padme, on the other hand, he can't quite tell if she's drunk or not, and the only indication she _might_ be is the tasteful alcoholic beverage in her hand. Still, he can't be sure. But for the sake of making himself feel better, he'll pretend she is.

They're standing off to the side of the party, where the majority of the people have congregated and are much more interested in themselves and their friends than what anyone on the sidelines is up to. All Obi-Wan knows is that the place will be a mess tomorrow. As will his head.

“You deserve a lot better, Obi-Wan,” Padme says suddenly, like it's just a thought that's come to her lips and out of her mouth while she looks out at the rest of the party. She might be drunk.

He glances at her, raising an eyebrow. “What do you mean by that?” he asks, words all slurred.

"I'm talking about you and Ani,” she says. She looks away from the crowd and at Obi-Wan.

“Anakin and I?” He frowns suddenly, sliding his hands into his pockets a bit self-consciously. “Why would you say that? We're fine. Everything's fine.”

“I just don't think he's good for you, s’all.” Her finely manicured brows draw together like she's worried.

Obi-Wan glances through the different faces in the crowd, finding Anakin mingling with his roommate across the room. “Why not?” he asks. Anakin’s teeth gleam when he laughs at something Ahsoka says.

“He…” She shrugs. “He needs to work on getting himself together before he gets involved with someone. Like big-time _involved._ ”

“Maybe this won’t even be that serious.”

“I think it’s headed that way.”

He pulls his eyes away from Anakin and looks back at Padme. “What are you saying?”

“I don’t want you to end up with someone who’s totally dependent on you.”

“So _what?_ ” He doesn’t care.

“So, you’re gonna be his sugar daddy or what?”

Obi-Wan bursts out into laughter. “I never said that.”

“I’m trying to help you, y’know.”

“And I appreciate it,” he says. “But I don’t need help.” Not with Anakin.

“I know.” She lowers her eyes with a small sigh. “I’m sorry. I know, I probably sound out of line. I just… want you to be happy, Obi-Wan.” She only glances up at him from beneath her eyelashes to give a half smile.

He wants to kiss her. It’s a weird urge—one he shouldn’t give into. Anakin is on the other side of the room and he _loves_ Anakin. Padme is just his friend. Obi-Wan knows that.

But… her lips are there and smiling and she _just wants him to be happy,_ so he ducks his head around to press a kiss to her lips.

Padme doesn’t pull away and slap him or anything. Why should she? Just friends being friends. And friends should be allowed to kiss sometimes.

Their kiss lasts for a while—Obi-Wan doesn’t know how long exactly, but it’s been one and a half songs since they first started locking lips. Now he has Padme’s entire weight in his arms with her legs wrapped around his waist. He also definitely should _not_ be getting turned on, but… it’s fine. Everything is fine.

Maybe friends should only exchange quiet pecks on the cheek.

Her hands, drunk and clumsy, slide into his hair to knot and pull and tangle. His hands, drunker and clumsier, hold her by the hips. He’s glad she’s wearing pants instead of a dress because this wouldn’t be nearly as decent if that were the case—not that this is by any means decent at all. He should probably stop.

Obi-Wan lets his eyes flutter open, drawing away only slightly from his best friend’s mouth just in time to see Anakin put his fist through the wall.

 

 

 

Anakin can’t even see straight. He can’t tell if it’s from the alcohol or the fact his head in general feels like it’s about to melt right off his shoulders. His knuckles—no, his whole hand and wrist—are throbbing, and now there’s a nice fist-sized hole in Obi-Wan’s fancy fucking wall.

“Anakin!”

Ahsoka’s calling his name as he storms away, fighting through the crowd. He ignores her. Most of the people get out of his way once they get a glimpse at how enraged he is. He shoves the people who don’t.

He’s not even _angry…_

He’s just…

Ahsoka grabs him by the arm, yanking him back when he tries to flee up the stairs. “Anakin, I’m so sorry,” she says quickly. “Let’s go outside. Let’s talk. Just calm down.”

“ _I am calm!_ ” he shouts, all of the turbulence in his head suddenly spewing out with the three violent words. Okay, fine. He’s not calm at all.

Ahsoka looks kind of hurt, her concerned eyes growing glassy. He yanks his arm out of her grasp. “Just go home, Ahsoka!” he snaps. “Leave me alone!” And then he has to restrain himself from taking the stairs two at a time.

He’s trudging down the long hall way when the tears start burning in his eyes, when they start spilling over onto his face. _Padme._ Of all the people in this god-forsaken earth for Obi-Wan to be _cheating_ on him with, it has to be _Padme Amidala._

He should have expected this. He should have fucking expected this and he doesn’t know why he didn’t guess it sooner. He was wrong all along. Obi-Wan _does_ love Padme more than him.

Anakin finds what looks like a guest bedroom and decides he’s going to camp his drunk ass there until morning.

 

 

 

“Fuck. _Fuck._ ”

Padme is on her own two feet again, but that hardly looks like a stable foundation. “What’s wrong?” she asks, glancing around like he does. “What did we just—?”

“Anakin,” he breathes. “Anakin—he— _fuck_.”

He takes off in the direction Anakin disappeared, shoving through the party guests who hardly notice. The music is suddenly too loud. It’s suffocating. Everything is suffocating. He has to find Anakin.

From where he’s trapped within a cluster of people, he watches Anakin disappear up a set of stairs. Well, that’s better than flying out the front door.

Anakin’s roommate is at the bottom of the stairs, sitting with her head in her hands. When she looks up at him, it’s a glare.

“He doesn’t want to talk to you,” she says coldly.

“Where is he?” Obi-Wan asks.

Ahsoka just tilts her head in the direction of the stairs behind her. “I’m guessing he’ll leave later. You should leave him alone.”

Which is the last thing Obi-Wan is going to do, thank you. He just gives her his most apologetic gaze—which isn’t hard to muster considering it’s currently plastered onto his face—and runs up the stairs. More than once, he almost trips.

“Anakin!” he calls out, at the same time a door near the end of the hall slams shut.

When Obi-Wan reaches the door, he doesn’t even try the handle. If Anakin doesn’t want to see him, he can respect that.

“Anakin…” He calls quieter through the door. No response. That’s okay. “It’s not… It’s not what you think. I think… I got too drunk.” He laughs in spite of himself, leaning his forehead against the door. “Padme and I… we’re just friends. You know that.” He wants to keep going, but that might turn into the alcohol talking for him, so he figures he should shut up with the explanations and save it for the morning.

Instead, he parks himself on the floor in front of the door and leans back against it. People are already starting to leave the party at the late hour. It’ll all be over soon. Obi-Wan is suddenly reminded of precisely why he fucking hates parties.

 

 

 

Anakin wakes up lying sprawled across a bed that’s too comfortable in a room that’s too bright. He squints against the morning light, head pounding, and tries to remember where the hell he is.

Really nice bedroom. Hotel? No, he doesn’t have the money for a room. Maybe someone got it for him? He rolls over to see if there’s anyone in bed, making sure to move slowly just so he doesn’t vomit immediately. His stomach still roils. But at least he’s alone in bed, so... not a hotel.

Guest room? Fuck. Obi-Wan’s house. He must have crashed up here after the party. Ahsoka’s probably somewhere—or, no. She probably went home. She’ll call around later if that’s the case.

Anakin sits up slowly, trying to remember what exactly happened last night. Something bad, he remembers that much. Something really shitty.

At the precise moment he recalls the image of Padme and Obi-Wan making out, a wave of nausea hits him and he skips across the pretty and perfect room to the pretty and perfect bathroom attached.

After getting way too friendly with a toilet bowl for a few minutes, and then lying miserably on the floor for a few longer minutes, he washes his mouth out in the sink. He can’t remember ever wanting a toothbrush more in his life.

Unfortunately, he glimpses at his reflection in the big, shining mirror. His hair is all stuck going in the same direction from however he passed out on the bed, his clothes are rumpled with the lingering smell of alcohol, and the circles under his eyes are darker than the pits of hell. Charming. Lovely. Excellent.

And Obi-Wan is somewhere in the house waiting for him. Maybe Obi-Wan doesn’t even know he’s here, and Anakin can just sneak out discretely like a one night stand.

Or maybe Obi-Wan is with _Padme._

He leans against the sink, gritting his teeth because he feels sick again. His brain is trying to beat its way out of his head. All he wants is some fucking ibuprofen and a ride home.

And a way to travel back in time to make it so he never fucking spoke to Professor Kenobi after Coruscant.

But eventually, Anakin wanders back out of the bathroom, going to leave the guest room. He has to find a phone somewhere to call a cab. Thirty bucks in his wallet says he can just make it home.

He takes a deep breath and opens the door to the hallway. But all he finds, blocking his exit, is Obi-Wan Kenobi sleeping on the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	7. Everything Goes to Absolute Shit: Anakin is Throwing Fits Left and Right, and Obi-Wan's Soul Has Left His Mortal Body on More than One Occasion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i cant believe... i am still getting random kudos on this, it warms my cold dead heart <333 i love all of you.
> 
> Lmao ok so a multitude of months later, , , , ,,, we have an ANGSTY update. Seriously. Why am I this full of ANGST.
> 
> Ok so if you are wondering (keyword: if) why this took so long to update the answer is: mostly bc i am writing like 500 novels, also, the life, and, the mental health , IM SO SORRY ! ! ! i am awful, but i refuse to abandon this fic i have too many feelings and u guys deserve BETTER

On the floor, blocking Anakin's path to escaping, is literally the last person he wants to see. Instead of stepping over him and scurrying away while pretending to be quiet, he just sort of pauses in the doorway, idling there like an idiot and staring down at Obi-Wan. He's passed out in the hallway, bangs brushing into his shut eyes, but those eyes seem so peaceful. Nothing worries him while asleep. It's like when he's asleep, he can truly escape, and it's beautiful.

Anakin rolls his eyes. Some people have all the luck.

Against his better judgement—no surprise there—Anakin crouches down next to him. He moves his hand to—actually, he has no idea why he moves it. Maybe to shake Obi-Wan awake. Maybe just to brush his hair back from his eyes. But he thinks better of himself at the last second and retracts his hand, this time in a fist, and this time reminding himself that this is the man who cheated on him last night—with _Padme_ , of all people.

Obi-Wan knows their history. Why... Why would he do it? Anakin shoves his hands into his hair and makes a vow right then and there to never consume another alcoholic beverage again, lest he want to turn into this much of a fucking idiot.

Oh... Shit.

Obi-Wan is stirring, sighing heavily and tucking his face into his arm against the harsh light coming from the bedroom. He moans tiredly, cracking his eyes open and looking up.

“Anakin?” he mumbles, his voice hoarse. He lifts his head and proceeds to slowly sit, confusion clear on his face. “Why... am I on the floor?”

“You tell me.” He doesn't really mean for his voice to come out with such venom, but...

“Oh, hell.” Obi-Wan shoves his hair out of his face. “You.”

“Me.”

He draws in an unsteady breath. “Padme...”

Anakin ignores that, for now. “Did you sleep here all night?” he asks. He has no idea how he's able to sound so casual while loosening his fists seems like a foreign concept.

“Did I—what? Ugh.” He frowns. “Anakin, I'm so... _sorry_.”

Sorry.

_Sorry._

Like that makes it all better? Everything about that word is wrong. Why are they even fighting? He doesn't _want_ to fight. But here they are sitting on the floor, and Anakin opens his mouth as if he's on the verge of answering, but there's so much on the tip of his tongue that he's too hungover to decide on. There's _too much._

_Sorry is all I get? How dare you get so wasted at your own party? How dare you kiss Her? How dare you? How dare you!_

“It's okay.” He lets his shoulders drop in a limp shrug.

Obi-Wan looks at him like Anakin's lost his fucking mind. “You... What?” He sounds so tired. His eyes are glassy, red and swollen from sleep and tears that threaten to fall but it's too early in the morning for. Crying isn't going to make Anakin any less angry, he tells himself firmly, even though he knows it's a lie.

So he looks down at his hands in his lap instead, playing with a string that's coming off his shirt. He wraps it around his finger until the skin turns dark red. “I don't know,” he mumbles. He finally notices that his knuckles are bruised, and his entire hand hurts. Probably punched something. “It's not like it really meant anything.” Right?

“Of course not.”

Anakin can't even muster the will to say anything else about it. He just hauls himself to his feet, stepping out into the hallway. He doesn't look at Obi-Wan when he says, “Ahsoka's probably wondering where I am. I'm gonna call a cab.”

“Go ahead. I'll give you the money.”

“I don't need your _fucking money._ ”

The words come out meaner and louder than he meant—actually, he didn't mean to say them at all. They leave an imaginary echo in the hallway, taking up the silence that follows. Anakin just lingers in the hallway, chewing on his lip and glaring at the floor.

He braces a hand against the wall. His head is _pounding_.

“Kiss... me,” he says, and then says it again, stronger: “Kiss me.” But the words sound weak. Pathetic. He doesn't even know why the hell he's saying them, or why the hell he wants it.

He turns around, looking at where Obi-Wan is rising from where he was previously sitting on the floor. His eyes are still all glass. Looking at them still hurts. “Why?” he asks quietly.

Why.

Anakin chokes back a laugh—like _he_ fucking knows. He shrugs animatedly, pacing a step or two. “Because maybe.... Because maybe it's the last kiss we'll ever have.” He does laugh, grimacing. “Nevermind.” Obi-Wan is walking toward him, closing the distance fast. “It's stupid. I'm—”

Obi-Wan cups Anakin's face in both of his hands and kisses him like the world is ending—like their world is ending. Anakin thinks maybe it is. Obi-Wan's kiss is gentle, the most gentle goddamn kiss ever. Soft, yet completely loving lips, the lightest contact of their tongues. But it's no where near enough.

Anakin grabs him by the waist and shoves him up against the wall, knocking off-center one of the paintings hanging up. He pulls away from Obi-Wan's mouth only to move his lips to his neck instead. He kisses the soft skin hard, using teeth and tongue in all the places he knows Obi-Wan likes best.

Did Padme kiss him like this? Did Padme know all the right spots to leave hickies? Did Padme want him as badly as Anakin does? He knows Padme didn't kiss like this. Maybe if he just... kisses Obi-Wan really well...

He gently pushes Anakin away and breathes his name. His pupils are huge when he looks up. “You don't... have to do this.”

“Do what.” Stop talking. _Let me kiss you. Let me show you I'm better than her._

“You're trying to prove something.”

“No, I'm not.” He's actually never lied so blatantly and badly in his life.

“Anakin,” he sighs, running his fingers along the side of his face. His smile is gentle. “You already own my heart.”

When Anakin meets his eyes, he feels their worlds collapse. “Maybe I don't want it.”

 

 

 

“ _What_ _?_ ”

Well, all things considered, it's not like he expected any other kind of response.

“Alright, listen, you can't do this,” Ahsoka continues, pacing around the floor of their dorm—granted, it's not very large of a space. “I mean, you said you weren't going to go—you were _so_ sure. And leaving right after you had a fight with Obi-Wan? Don't you see some correlation here?”

Anakin was never that good with science or anything. He shrugs, spinning back and forth in the desk chair. He draws one of his knees up to his chest, looking away from her and at the floor instead. “Well, I didn't want to leave.”

Ahsoka's voice goes quiet. “You said it was because you didn't like Windu—because you did't like New York...”

“Both true.” Fuck Windu. Fuck New York, too. But he's got nothing keeping him in Seattle.

“You shouldn't _ever_ risk your career for a relationship—I never thought I'd have to be the one to tell you this—you're how many years older than me?”

Anakin shakes his head, spinning around in the chair so he faces the open laptop. There's a new email waiting for him. “I already emailed Windu this morning telling him I accept his offer,” he says. His voice sounds numb, even to himself.

He clicks the new email, eyes scanning over the words that mean close to nothing to him. “And... it looks like I'm leaving tomorrow.”

She laughs—definitely pissed, now. “Better start packing,” she says before going quiet again. The springs of the bed creak when she sits down heavily on it.

When Anakin looks over at her, he finds her sitting on the edge of the bottom bunk, arms folded and her clear blue eyes clouding. She averts them anywhere but him, it seems. It's like she's pouting like a kid and he feels... bad.

“Look, Snips...”

“Don't!” she snaps. “Don't _Snips_ me! I can't believe you're leaving me all alone in this hell pit while you go play in New York, just because you broke up with your boyfriend. Was he—” She sniffs and frowns sharply, as if rethinking her words but saying them anyway. “He was more important to you than me.”

“Ahsoka!” He suddenly feels very heavy—heavy with—with... he doesn't know what _._ Hurt. Guilt. Shame. “That's not... You're my best friend.”

He shuts the laptop after typing a quick response. Talking to casually to a famous artist feels... insignificant, in a way he never imagined would be possible. Anakin stands, sliding on his shoes and coat and grabbing his wallet. Ahsoka doesn't say anything until he turns the door knob and,

“Don't walk away from me.”

Of course, he does just that, and slams the door on his way out.

 

 

 

Anakin doesn't go anywhere in particular, just storms off down block after block. The weather's getting warmer. He remembers waking up to the freezing cold on the beach, remembers huddling around the fire with Obi-Wan and noting that Obi-Wan felt warmer.

He ends up in a familiar coffee shop and gets the most unnecessarily complicated drink he can get with five bucks. All he's got is that wrinkled five dollar bill left over from the cab fair that he did, in fact, let Obi-Wan pay.

He slumps down at a table, taking a long sip from his drink that's literally nothing but indulgent and the next-best thing to alcohol. But then, brooding eyes scanning the cafe, he finds him sitting a few tables away.

Of course. Of _fucking_ course, he just _has_ to casually run into Obi-Wan. Anakin kind of hopes he just doesn't notice him, but at the same time, he knows that if he leaves without saying anything he'll feel even worse.

Merely 2% coffee drink in hand as his only weapon, Anakin sits down right across from Obi-Wan.

The man looks up with surprise, though it quickly turns into obvious relief. “Oh, it's you,” he says. He's dressed in a big, off-white cardigan, his hair in disarray. He was previously reading a paperback that now lies on the table unassumingly, but Anakin recognizes the cover. He designed it. He wants to dump his coffee all over it and burn the remains.

“I'm leaving tomorrow,” Anakin says simply, still staring at the book. He spares Obi-Wan a glance when he doesn't answer, and finds any sense of relief gone from his blue eyes.

“You...” He takes a deep breath, and doesn't ask any questions. “Okay.”

Anakin almost chokes on the words. They come out evenly, anyway. “I'm not coming back.”

“Okay.”

Okay. That's that. He stands, leaving Obi-Wan alone at the table without so much as a goodbye.

 

 

 

Obi-Wan sits at the table for a while after Anakin leaves, though he's not sure how long exactly he spends staring, unseeing, at the cover of the book. The dying girl in the flowers. Anakin's art. Anakin--gone. Taking up the apprenticeship in New York City. He's not coming back.

He also left his god-damn coffee sitting on the table.

Obi-Wan has to duck into the cafe bathroom, because otherwise he'd feel silly crying in public. Thankfully, no one else is in the bathroom, while he's standing in one of the narrow stalls shaking and crying and wanting to run after Anakin but knowing he shouldn't.

He slams the side of his fist against the nice, wooden door so that the entire structure shakes—the only loss of control he'll allow.

None of this would be happening if not for the party. None of this would be happening if he didn't think kissing Padme was a good idea. There's a reason he doesn't prefer drinking.

He never fully realized he was in love with Anakin until he had to watch him leave. Serves him right.

 

 

 

Obi-Wan walks back into his house at the end of yet another day, wandering in like a ghost in the empty mansion.

“Is everything alright, sir?” comes the voice of Threepio. He's on his way out for the night.

Obi-Wan gives him a smile. “Quite,” he answers. “Goodnight, Threepio.”

“Goodnight to you, too, sir.”

He ends up lying in the middle of the living-room floor, bringing a cigarette to his lips as he stares up at the high ceiling. The entire house feels colder now, emptier than usual, compared to the party last night. He watches as the smoke curls and spirals up into the air before dissipating. His limbs feel heavy.

In his other hand is his phone, and he looks thoughtfully at the glowing screen of Padme's contact. His thumb hovers over the 'call' button, and eventually he pinches his eyes shut and taps it. He puts the call on speaker and lets it fall onto the carpet by his head.

After a few agonizing rings, Padme's voice picks up.

“Hey,” she says softly.

“Hey,” Obi-Wan answers in the same voice.

She takes a second to answer. “What's up?”

He taps the ash off his cigarette directly onto the carpet. “Do you...” He doesn't even finish the sentence. He doesn't want to know what she remembers from the party. He breaks off, the tears leaking from his eyes rolling down either side of his head.

“Are you alright?” she asks.

He takes a second to answer, this time, trying to stop gasping and sniffling. “Can you come over?”

There's a shuffling sound on the other line that implies she's moving around, probably getting up. “On my way.”

 

 

 

When Padme comes over, she brings at least ten DVDs of their favorite movies, various junk foods, and a bottle of wine. He's never been happier to see her.

So, with the help of several blankets, they cozy up on the couch, putting in one of the least-romantic movies in the assortment. The apologizing part went pretty easily—both agreed getting drunk was stupid and making out was stupid and sometimes people just do _stupid_ things.

“I just,” Obi-Wan sniffles, picking up at least his tenth piece of chocolate, “don't _understand._ Why does he have to leave tomorrow? Or at all?”

She rubs his arm in a there-there sort of way. “He's dramatic.”

He nods in agreement, eating the chocolate. “I mean, he's already told me about how he doesn't want to go. It's all my fault.”

“Hey, if we're placing the blame, here, then it's my fault too,” she says. “Did you try explaining to him?”

He sighs. “There wasn't much explaining to be done.” He shakes his head. “Now he's gone.”

Padme hands him a tissue, with the actual comment of _there-there._ “You should talk to him tomorrow. He probably hates all this as much as you do.”

He nods, blowing his nose and wiping the tears off his face. “You're right. I will. But—what am I even supposed to say?”

She shrugs a fuzzy-blanketed shoulder. “Just tell him how you feel,” she says. “It's the only thing you can do.”

 


End file.
